Broken Bottle Moon

There’s blues in my blood; rhythm runs red.
A man I never knew left a guitar in my head.
The strings of his song snapped too soon—
Romeo and Juliet and a broken bottle moon.

There’s rock in my roots, gospel is a ghost;
Can’t say if the lies or the truth hurt most.
So I wander on through an old cemetery,
Looking for love somebody chose to bury.

There’s pain in my past; sorrow in my soul.
When you deny a part you’re never whole.
And the strings of the song, I can’t replace.
They’re in each long-dead and living face.

~
broken bottle photograph from rottentomatoes.com