my shaman
my shaman is a musician
sitting in grandma’s rocking chair
her nylon-stringed classical guitar
strapped across his shoulder
months go by without knowing
his arrivals or departures
i imagine he’s playing her music
to a sold-out crowd in need
the mosh pit implosion gives rise
to a new kind of attention
where misunderstood children
believe in second chances
though my shaman has no wings
his imperfect compositions
sail beyond the faintest star
giving light where there is none
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
❤ it
Thanks so much Bonnie! 😀
This is a creative piece. You can’t read the first stanza without going on to find out more.
Thanks for the feedback, so glad you enjoyed this one. JW