His heart was old and wounded and scared
It had been broken and bruised
and burned until there was not even ash left
It had dreamt and lost and cried more tears than stars in the sky and prayed to never fall again
To never feel empty and absent
or miserable and abused
and for the death it felt inside to be its quite and final resting place
It clung desperately to the want of never
And then there was her
And colors pulsed in its blood
And dreams were painted on its walls
And her name burned into its skin
Then his heart beat as if it was just taking in its first breath
And all of its cracks and scars and bruises faded and it couldn't remember shedding a single tear or ever having been broken
And the beauty of love was found again
In the soft curves of her smile and the magic of the colors swirling in her eyes
And nothing else mattered
Nothing but her

Many people knew him
Once upon a time
When he was a little boy
And when he was a man
He used to like his whiskey
And the songs he sang
He used to break the rules
Liked to play the fool

But John is gone,  yes John is gone
John is gone, long gone

Just like the summer
And ground he walked on
Like the sound of his voice
John is gone

He used to live here
And he lived over there
Seems like John lived
Everywhere

When he was a tenor
He sang night and day
If he were still around
I’d sing with him today

But John is gone,  yes John is gone
John is gone, long gone

Was he ever here I wonder
And where did he go
The John that I remember
The John that I know

Condell, Hemmings, Burbage all
Have had their final curtain call
The boards they trod were burned in flames,
And not one single script remains.
The author, Shakespeare, now bones and dust
as is the fate of all of us.
Yet do not count all as defeat
As we playgoers take our seats
For Shakespeare still retains his fame.
Though all else be gone
His words remain

Where is the grief
that should write your face
leaving no trace
of joy’s expression
only rivers of red depression?

Where is the pain
that should be drawn in
till each line ages you
as it should do?

Where is the wisdom achieved
in feeling such grief
in bending to weep
from the sorrows you see?

Where is the hope and conviction born
from seeing the forlorn,
hearing the horrors that sound inhumanity
then standing to see a whole city
raging against such indignities?

Where is the righteous outrage
that you display
for a symbolic piece of cloth
that represents states that owned slaves
or the red white and blue
that you pledge your allegiance to
when it is torn, burned,
stepped on, or frayed?
Shouldn’t that anger be parlayed
into seeking justice
for those who were betrayed
for the ones who went away
to be kissed by the lips of death
and the ones who stayed
trying to make ends meet
for the human beings
who mean so much more to me?

Seriously, where is your ******* human decency?

Look at that
Humans are
Dust motes
Dancing on
A cosmic scale
Burning behind
The comet’s tail
Too important to notice
That they are
Less than a particle
In a universe
That is an electron
In an atom
Of a larger universe

Back behind Gianni's
There was no one to be found
The alleyway was quiet
You could not hear a sound

The frost had not yet burned off
The alleyway was wet
The deliveries had not been made
No one was moving yet

In the sky  a rarity
Both sun and moon were out
But seen by just night creatures
Since no one was about

The back window to Gianni's
Opened to where Jim slept
There was garbage in the doorway
Since it had not yet been swept

The moon was getting lower
The sun just in the sky
The silence was then broken
By a blackbird flying by

The bird woke up the Bluesman
with his early morning call
And he watched the Bluesman set up
Perched up high upon a wall

The Bluesman had his guitar
Wiped some moisture off  his crate
Another blackbird landed
A rat peeked out from a drain grate

The Bluesman started playing
Singing low, just barely heard
More animals were showing up
And they took in every word

His medicine beside him
In a flask, engraved "For Dad"
His voice was smooth and smoky
You could hear him, just a tad

More birds came for the concert
More rats, some squirrels too
No humans yet were moving
In the early morning dew

He sang as he was known too
To no one special, just the sky
Songs of revelation
Songs of watching people die

The small flock that had gathered
Watched The Bluesman, moved a bit
As he took sips from his medicine
Not a single song...a hit

The world was just now waking
But The Bluesman didn't care
He was doing what he always did
Singing softly to the air

Normally, the street would fill
As word would spread around
That the Bluesman was out playing
But, today...no one was found

The window to Gianni's
Let Jim lie in bed and dream
That he heard the Bluesman singing
In his room, on a sun beam

The birds all flew away at once
The was movement in behind
Life was coming to the street
Where at night the vermin dined

The Bluesman packed his kit up
Snuck away from the day light
To sleep and rest his weary bones
To venture forth again that night

The rats went to the sewers
The birds had flown away
The squirrels, they were also gone
And the street began it's day

Jim looked out his window
The alley empty, no one thee
Where while Jim thought he was dreaming
The Bluesman sang songs to the air

An early morning concert
Full of music, 'neath the sun
A concert heard by many
A concert just for one