Blue and gray

Are the eyes of the old man

Colors colder than the notes he brings to the air

The Rodney Dangerfield of the day

Caresses the fret like the shoulder of an old friend

Bending music into frightening angles

The world does not know his name

But we have his face

A memory of light waves from a long time past but not forgotten

Spiderfingers reaching for the next thrill

The next lofty expanse of sound and feeling

Music heals you know

Washes the soul and makes new

What was once overused and contagious with the blues

Casting his spell over the painter

Art collides with the artist

Moments live forever

Under the guise of reflection

But the wood in his lance grows forever older

Until one day it fades away into memory when once there was matter

Silence when once there was music

The grave replaces the man

Under a starry night sky

But if you ask me the old man lives on

Canvassing the expanse of time with a painted brush

Blue and gray

Is the fountain of youth

Just like the eyes of the old man