The Old Guitarist Ekphrastic Poem

Young when I first met you I didn’t understand your depth and pain You were nothing but melancholy and blue I unfortunately classified you as inane Once again we meet I am much older and read your soul I have wondered the street I find comfort in you while I seek my goal The more I find the more I want to know There are plenty of troubles in your breath For I have met your creator, Dear Picasso You think you may meet your inevitable death I know there is much ahead of you I take you as my inspiration to reach I once had the trouble to pursue Take another stab is what you beseech You may think you have met the end of your road If that is what you chose then it may be But this place I assure you can be a better abode Only if you don’t accept your limitations to not see