fools said i…

standing on the steps of that might cathedral,
a simple song in his heart for companionship
no one else will dare play with this strange boy
with the sounds of silence echoing thru his head

brushed aside in the bustle of the Sunday service
as the pious congregation jostle for pride of place
unnoticed and alone, his concealed soul sorrowing
dancing with the sad guitars, performing in his head

an extremely quiet child peering, looking for answers
no teacher to lead the way, just the simple songs sadly
playing on a two dollar transistor, playing in his head
while people talk, without sound, can’t you see… see me

the only shelter from the growing insanity in his brain
is the secret world of the songwriters, poets of the world,
these demigods to reassure his painfully questioning mind
while the chortling crowd leer ever closer, closing in his head,

and now the boy is a man, standing alone, still alone
playing the same old songs round and round his head
no greatness in life will he be likely to achieve, to succeed,
but with empathy he will heal the boy, the quiet crying child,


in his head , fools said i …i said……….

greg

very touching.. a new twist to a familiar trope... well appropriated!
misty

quite a story! always something novel and highly literate from you, greg.

G'day, dear Cousin!

This sounds like me! Seriously, it really does; I felt an overwhelming sense of identification as I read these lines.

I always love your poetry. And what a great last line this poem has!

Thanks and love,

Cousin +Stevie