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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required In the warmest of seasons, when the cheerless moon of a remote town rises from beyond the fir and maple-covered hills, in great suspense and silence, a brief song is played by this guitar with a few chords and numerous notes: making up the merriest melody sustained by a perfect and simple harmony... I am the author and the composer, expressing my feelings in an unusual norm, regardless how the critics will judge it, for words and music should have an effective form: free of impurity, lively and up-beat, something likable by every singer, to make such a unique composition notable, and be remembered by every mortal... I play it to my oldest friend, a royal friend who listens and seldom gets bored by the lively strokes of the strings; melancholic moon, I like to see you smile for a change: to be sad is evoking death itself when no bird sings, and darkness shows its cadaverous, unmerciful face! When fear is very real and perceptible in each sense, life departs from us and evil spirits frantically dance; melancholic moon, gaze down and lighten up your rage... I am no genius or pretend to be, and my humanness and wisdom are always reflected by a justified action and a truthful word: to draw the attention of the stubborn; and playing a brief song with this guitar, elates me and dissolves my grim look of loneliness, to confidently get me through this lovely and eternal night, but hesitant and murky moon, turn on that luminous light! Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
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