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poetry
Winemaker
Winemaker - 11/15/19
 

I remember the first time I heard you play

It was like a chimney that had been hidden 
Behind a giant wall-sized painting
Was pilfered away and bless those thieves
Who collectively call themselves obscurity
 
For lifting that heavy scarlet curtain
I remember so clearly because my family was hurting
The night you took the stage - small, unassuming 
Though the venue was, it felt to me like the answer 
To the question "what is, what will be, what ever was?"
 
If that isn't large-scale, I don't know what breathes
I don't know what teases truth out of a group
Whispers loudly "I've got you" and grips, like a fever
The muscles in the mind, repeating shamelessly
"You are fruition, and I am the vine"