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Teahouse of The August Moon
So the guitarist has played his chords
and sang his measly pitiful words
He’s played with this and toured with that
but who knows where his head is at?
The country seems so strange yet new
everyone so happy while he’s so blue
The wonderful bands he’s seen and heard
they are quite beautiful and yet so blurred
The Teahouse of The August Moon
is waiting for him but not too soon
For one day he’ll hang up his old guitar
that came from space those stars so far
The candles and incense seem so sweet
as it calls from his retreat
For one day when you are old and grey
will it matter what you did anyway?
We all think our music is so great
but to others possibly too loud too late
The rocking chair calls him, it seems so soft
away in the woods deep in a loft
While others try to just be heard
he seems to hide and feel absurd
"Will you be silver or will you come green"?
Is it Alien Bluez or in-between?
The music is what makes him smile
for when you’ve partied the long toothed mile
You seem to enjoy the quiet time
a hundred and thirty is so sublime!
The Teahouse of The August Moon
Is calling softly,he starts to swoon
No longer wishing to be "A Star"
He wants only to cruise in the car.
So he sips his tea, and plays a chord
and remembers when applause were scored
but now the breeze is his fanfare
the notes his wings without a care
Cazzy
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Comments: 1Views: 159
Comments
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bagsewer08, 4 years ago | FlagInterestin
g piece, I wonder if it might your personal story! We all have one, my dad was a drummer in the days of the big bands, I witnessed the evolution of his creative spirit and I felt it was always searching for an avenue of expression . In the end he saw no great fanfare only the love and admiration of the one's who knew him best as they walked life's journey with him. You've wonderfull y depicted the all inspiring stages each of us go through in this world wether we are artist, builders, or whatever!
4 years ago
Points: 7700
Category: poetry » literature
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