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Guitar Sorcerer
He steps into moonlight, strings ablaze,
A spell-bound master in a midnight haze.
Notes crack like lightning, dark flames rise,
Echoes twisting through spectral skies.
From covens deep and forests old,
He forged a sound both fierce and bold.
A serpent’s hiss, a banshee’s wail,
His fingers dance—an eerie tale.
The runes he carved upon the fret,
Summon storms not soon forget.
A single chord—a whispered curse,
Reality bends, the heavens burst.
Shadows coil around his hands,
Summoned forth from haunted lands.
Specters hum, the witches chant,
A melody none dare recant.
Blackened sparks upon the strings,
Woven spells in trembling things.
A tremolo dark, a sorcery wild,
A lullaby sung by the moon’s lost child.
Thunder answers every shred,
Winds obey the notes he bled.
A final wail—a spectral end,
And silence bows to music’s bend.
Copyright ©
Michael Fulkerson
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