And This One's for You
When I am old, and even greyer than now –
finally, ‘thrown off this mortal coil’,
I wonder if they will stumble on these crazy,
ramblings of mine. Know
I was obsessed – one hundred percent,
incurably so, with this ‘poetry thing’.
Call it a ‘bug’, if you will. ‘Once bitten,
ever smitten’, puts it in a nutshell...since
the age of ten, or thereabouts. And,
how very much akin to playing piano,
writing was for me; creating harmonies,
chords, phrases, arpeggios – oft times discords,
for the effect; that short, sharp, shock. No
not what they’d call ‘proper’ composing;
writing music down in notes and staves.
Manuscripts, too tedious by far. ‘Playing by ear’ –
the cheats way out, but, nonetheless rewarding;
for me, if for no one else.
I’d like to think too, that people knew
how very much I loved you, and that these
demented scribblings were equivalent to Mahler’s,
or Beethoven’s Fifth, to your ear; celebrating
more, much more, than a passing fancy.