Music helps me through each and every day
Like poetry
It helps me express myself
It helps me relax
It helps me live
When life seems to overwhelm me
A good song
Like a good poem
Keeps me grounded and moving on
Energizing me
Renewing me
Plugging me into life's outlet
To carry on life's way
He sits on the sidewalk playing his guitar
While people pass by
Some have stopped to listen
Placing money in the case at his feet
Off and on others join him bringing
Horns
Flutes
Drum
Guitars
And other instruments
But most of the time he has played alone
He has had gogs
Weddings
Libraries
Bars of coarse
He likes playing out in the open
Watching the people pass by
He has made friends with some of them
His music is like poetry in their ears
The lyrics he wrote himself
Songs that touch on every fabric of humanity
Here he plays
Here he sings
To those who listen
A man of the world
A man and his music
A man and his guitar
They call her the "Bag Lady"
A homeless wanderer
Out of the streets
Pushing her shopping cart
Down the sidewalk she goes
Broken dreams
Tatered clothes
Most people ignore her
Some turn away
A few have made friends
And look forward to seeing her each day
Still she pushes her cart
From street to street
Dirty clothes
But smiling at the people she meets
I'll walk the dirt road
Sure it is not easy at times
But with hardwork and grit
I will get by just fine
The paved road is nice and smooth
Easy to travel
But the lessons upon that path
Is nothing but frizzle
The dirt road is hot and long
Bumps found on the path
The life lessons learned
Are ones that will always last
You are born
The fuse on your rocket is lit
As you go through life
All through childhood
All through adolescents
Learning lessons
Relating to others
Learning your voice
Learning the tools to succeed
And
All the while the fuse gets closer and closer to the rocket
Finally you graduate high school
The rocket takes off
Zooming into the sky
Higher and higher it climbs
As you navigate adulthood
Starting a career
Having a family
Through the highs and lows
The rocket keeps climbing
Finally (hopefully at an old age)
The rocket explodes
Life is no more
Poetry is not just pretty words
For some of us
It is a way of life
We breathe it
It flows through our veins
Poetry is not just pretty words
It is
Passion
Pain
Joy
Laughter
Poetry is all of that
And so much more
We read poetry
We breathe poetry
Cry it
Bleed it
Poetry is our language
Poetry pours from our throats
From our mouths
Like a mighty pouring of blood
Pouring forth
Soaking into all that is around us
The sound waves of our words
Resonate throughout time
Throughout space
For generations after generation
To hear
To know they are not alone in their struggle
