Music and Poetry

July 3, 2015

I sat in my car

Sweating to the sounds

Of a composer

Who wrote sheets of music

That he believed would

Never be heard

By anyone else

While writing poetry

That I believed would

Never be read

By anyone else.

Such is the irony of our times

Where two artists

Across time and space

Find themselves

Creating just for the thought

Of creation

No money is made

And no bills are paid

Out of a job

Out of a home

And certainly

Out of luck.

Which is always the case when

Your trying to make yours

To a population that

No longer cares for the music

Or the rhymes

But instead for the dollars, pennies

And dimes.

So I sat in my car

Sweating to the sounds

Of a composer

Who wrote sheets of music

That he believed would

Never be heard

While writing poetry

That I believed would

Never be read.

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