There's a man I know
I'd name him, only,
I'm not sure it's my place,
he views the world in music
music as the voice of angels
the language of the heavens
he's an old snowball of a guy
his black skin cracked at the lips and fingers
and white foam coating the corners of his leathery lips
He reminds me of my late grandfather
a soldier who fell to Parkinson's
He had been playing flute,
cello,
violin,
piano,
and conducting since the age of five
I bought two CD's from him for seven bucks
and **** it was pretty **** good,
and I don't even listen to that type of music,
I found out he lives in a group home
mentally disabled in some way or another
he said he dreams of owning his own house
and his own car,
he dreams that one day,
everybody will have heard his music,
and I hope he reaches those dreams
if anybody ever deserved to
it's the music man