The Wandering Maestro

Posted: March 5, 2015 in Poems, Writing
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

A new nomad comes to town,
A feathered chapeau,
A ripped coat,
And a silver tongue,
They say he is a wandering maestro.

His guitar is a sight to behold,
Well-used and with prismatic countenance,
It pulses with powers unseen,
A simple coin in his hat,
And you open yourself to untold marvels,
His music will show you the way.

Sit down and have a listen.

Dreams are his gift to you,
Each chord is a promise of hope,
Each strum of the guitar,
Sends dreams of paradise up on wings,
As he continues to play,
Your soul ignites with inspiration.

Why does he do it?
Dreams are his way of seeing the world,
He sees only what the world could be,
He wants you to see it too,
His eyes are cloudy and dead.

He went blind eons ago.

Maestro

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Comments
  1. Osharlequin says:

    Reblogged this on WorldofHarley and commented:

    The Wandering Maestro

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