There, at the damp corner of the city,
the thin, skeleton-like figure
holds his old guitar close to him.
The haggard man weakly hunched,
the gentle strumming begins.
The night is a special kind of blackness,
cold blue embraces him,
and within its safety,
I can feel my own soul more clearly,
that innocent inborn spark.
quietly humming along
with thoughts dragging into song.
His soul drops freely into the sweet melody,
swirling along the chorus,
fill up the chilly blue night.
The notes dance and play, like the sun
wading through the misty sky
till all too soon, the notes begin to fade,
slowing, this sweet melody ending,
closing dim, lonely eyes
wondering where he went wrong.
Asleep in the shining blue moon,
the cold light, his only comfort
seeing the man’s elongated limbs,
cramped, angular posture,
my heart breaks a little more.
Sometimes eyes need music to see,
and the darker the night,
the sweeter the song.