The Guitar

I am beautiful
draped around his shoulders
supported by him
but I have no soul.

He gives me life
He is my Frankenstein
I am always available
Receptive to his touch
responsive to him.

He explores himself through me
He gives me a voice and I sing for him
He made me this way, hyper sensitive
one false move
and I must punish him
I can do no other.

I cannot forgive him
but I bear no grudges
I am always the same
his battle is with himself
his shame.

He can't sweet talk me
I respond to his feel
With me he gives himself away
I help him heal.

Together, we are more
you like, you adore
after, encore
I am left on a stand.
I lose his touch
we hear your hands.

(fyi - One of three poems inspired by guitarist John Petrucci. This to be read with "The Guitarist")