Few Understood…

They read the words

and felt the beat

Of a heart that lost

endured defeat..

No comprehension

for the blind..

Heard solely by

the open mind…

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Cold tokens…

Nick Nacks and trinkets

lay cold to the touch

Tokens…reminders…

All kept like a crutch..

Perhaps I should sell them

or give them away…

..But they’re all I have of you..

…Here with me they will stay…

And so you drift…

Tell me please where do you go

When clouds are in your eyes

For though you’re sitting here with me

I sense a sad good-bye…

When you smile

Is it at me

Or something else

Some memory…

When I speak or touch your hand

Do you ever feel or understand…

Embraced within a foggy mist

held entrapped by sightless fists

I’m powerless as I watch you drift…

A Master In Rags…

Gnarled bent aching fingers

Deftly polish brass

Of well used treasured trumpet

He cradles like fragile glass

…Closes eyes…

…Purses lips…

And…He…Blows…

With talent God-given

His Blue Music flows

Over those all around him

Soon a small crowd will grow

He never looks up

Rich notes never lag

All are witnessing Genius…

He’s a Master in Rags…