HIS SONG
He plays to the cold reception of an audience
Who gives attention to his inharmonious tune
And ignore his heartfelt lyrics because it is
Written by an unpopular uncultured artiste.
They dare not imitate his practised alien moves
As his dance is not like they have seen before
So they disapprove his rhythm, loathe his spreads
He does not conform, the scum of the industry.
They curse his volume and demand adjustment
It is too loud, too soft, too jarring on the nerves
But for him the pitch is pure and perfect
And so he plays on, oblivious to societal reproach.
And when his song ends and the music fades
They strain to catch the last of the fading melody
They swear that his song has always been familiar
That his blurred lyrics were ones they knew well.
About the Poet
This week’s featured creative is my dear friend, Jascinth Richards. She is a prolific writer, speaker, and host whose electrifying personality, presence, and wit have made her a sought-after leader in her field. Her most recent work, “Sing Me” is a collection of poems geared toward celebrating the beauty of spousal intimacy and can be purchased on Amazon.com. Please support my friend!
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