Grass of Blue

I wrote this sitting in the lobby of a Holiday Inn in Hampton this last weekend. I attended a blue grass festival the night before in the same hotel. I was waiting for the rest of my party to join me for breakfast. I saw one of the players from the night before as he left the back entrance with his banjo and then this happened, it just came out. I like it a lot. I wrote for me.
Read, enjoy it if you so desire.

Grass of Blue

He strums the chords.
Lace on fire, flame upon mountain.
A voice begins as a whisper
then builds like lilac on a vine;
soft, steady and vibrant.
Harmony echoes and lingers
around my ears, searching
for a heart to let it in.
Alone now waiting
for just one more chance.
He strums the chords.
Silk billowing over warm southern
even breeze.
Pain released quietly
as if a cat staulking its prey.
Power and pride long since moved on.
Leaving me no longer a neighbor without a glance,
a thought or word to spare.
I now strum a chord, one only.
Flicker of flame, puff of smoke
that seeps out, up and then melts
into my skin.