grant me wings
so i can fly away
grant me intelligence
so i don't have to use fancy words to sound smart
grant me wealth
so i don't have to act like i'm wealthy
grant me love
so i can forget what it feels like to be in pain
Poem from my book
The door opened, he entered
There was a whoosh of air
The Bluesman looked bedraggled
And he grabbed himself a chair
Cy, came out, he heard the bell
Saw the Bluesman, gave a smile
He said "I see the storm is worse"
"It's gonna keep up for a while"
The Bluesman looked around the store
Saw a guitar on the wall
"She's an old one hanging over there"
He called to Cy, now down the hall
He grabbed it, rubbed the neck some
He said "she's got a lot to say"
He went back to the wooden chair
And the Bluesman, he did play
"There's lots of music in this girl"
"So many songs not sung"
He looked back at the hook behind
Where this old guitar had hung
He sang songs about Jesus
about freedom, and the moon
Amazingly for the guitars age
It wasn't out of tune
Cy went to the pawn stores back
returning with a flask
He'd brought the Bluesman medicin
The Bluesman continued with his task
"This old girls a treasure trove"
"She's just so full of words"
"Songs kept hidden for so long"
"Songs just waiting to be heard"
He played some more, the storm let up
He thanked Cy, took his leave
"An old guitar needs to be played"
"It's lost songs to be grieved"
"You know that you can play her"
"Whenever you come by"
The Bluesman turned and smiled
He held the flask given by Cy
"That old guitar is special"
"She's an old soul, just like me"
"I thank you for the offer"
"Time will tell, we'll see"
The Bluesman left the pawnshop
It was if he wasn't there
He went out back behind Gianni's
And sang his music to the air
The old king sighs.
His people hold their breaths
His armies are ready to fight
His generals look at each other
His queen remembers the passion
His people remember the days of splendour
His generals remember his ardour
The old king looks up at the clouds
then bows his head again
"Maybe it won't rain tomorrow."
The flesh is willing, but the mind is weak.
you look up from your knees
with defying gratitude
— The End —