the song in his heart

The accessories of his life,
chosen with care
and displayed with precision,
by him, the creator.
Chosen words uttered with confidence,
seemingly careless, they’re tossed to ears
willing to listen, willing to hear,
of that which he’s built,
what he’s achieved.
And he breathes in the envy,
the applause in their eyes,
which keeps him going
day after day, to do it again,
maintain the pretense
of this empty stature,
that’s taken up so many yesterdays.

Yet in moments unguarded,
shadows dart across those eyes,
unwelcome and unwanted.
The loss of a freedom
he’s taken to ignore,
that he’s managed to still,
but not forgotten.
The dreams of a child,
of a growing man,
when desires still fed his soul.

For now he’s torn
between the prestige
and the will of his own recklessness,
which only comes to him
when his head is at rest on his pillow
and his mind is free to lead him down roads,
where the doors are ajar and not closed
by his own restraint,
responsibilities weightless behind his shut eyes.

For as he stands, momentarily alone,
while the notes of the blues guitar
sings the song of his heart,
that takes him back to a simpler life,
to the start of his road
with his dream of fast cars,
the only luggage,
his beat-up guitar.

picture: http://gedes.deviantart.com/art/fast-cars-slow-guitars-89095357