THE MAN AND HIS GUITAR

A man, seated on the grass, near the bus stop, guitar in hand,

You can tell by his appearance that he must have, at one time, been part of a headliner band...

He had an elegant air about him, though his clothes looked mighty old,

His hair was dirty, and, his present status was easily told.

The streets were his home, he had no where else to go,

Still, you could see the traces of the life he once did know...

His posture was perfect, his smile was nice,

And, he appeared as if his current situation would suffice.

I stood before him, while he fretted out a tune, on his prized guitar,

Which definitely, looked worthy of a previous superstar...

His voice was beautiful, so I sat down a short distance from him,

Listening to the melody which he delivered from deep within...

Soon, others were there, enjoying the talents of this man,

Each leaving money in a sort of antiqued pan.

He told each of them thank you, in a humble sort of way,

I was sure I could sit here, listening and watching him all day...

There was something about him which I could not quite define,

I simply accepted him; he had touched me in this heart of mine...

Several hours had passed, I got up to leave, and, he said to me,

"Thank you for treating me so very kindly."

I told him that I had been mesmerized by his beauty within and without,

That I was sure that he could rise again, of that I had no doubt.

He looked at me and grinned; in his charming, magical way,

He told me that he had no intentions of rising past this day;

That dreams were made to die, and, people were too,

That there are advantages to being homeless, yes, it is true...

I looked perplexed, I looked saddened, I am sure,

For he told me then that things could never be as they once were...

"I am doing fine, I am in touch with the world, and, I give myself to all,

I don't have to answer to any one's beck and call,

Nor do I have to worry about suffering after rising, another devastating fall...

I make a good living sitting here, playing for those who wander by,

I get more respect now than in all the years by and by...

So, if you don't mind, don't feel sorry for me,

Be glad that I am finally free."

I understood exactly what he was feeling, and, what he did say,

So, I told him that I would return soon to hear him play.

He told me he appreciated my caring soul,

And, that next time he would play some rock and roll...

I looked for him often, never saw him again,

I pray that he is happy, I still think of him, every now and then...

He played his music for all the world to hear,

Lending his voice of mastery upon many a distracted ear,

He had a message to give us, one by one;

Be careful of what you wish for, for surely, it will be done...