Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

He may not recall the faces, 
or the names of all the places,
where he would play his songs until, 
his fingers blistered and bled.

He still thinks about those long nights,
and the million miles he drove through,
where he never earned enough, 
to pay for a bug-filled bed.

He remembers the cheap hotels, 
and the even cheaper women,
the pills that took away his dreams,
and those that would not let him stop.

Between the tears that he’s crying,
and the loneliness of trying,
sometimes it makes him wonder if, 
he’ll climb that ladder to the top.

He has left so many pieces,
of himself in empty bar rooms,
until it feels like his soul is, 
being stretched out way too thin.

Tomorrow is another day,
of empty rooms and promises,
but he will still get up and try,
to do it all over again.

And as long as he is breathing,
he will never quit believing,
and if his heart is still beating,
he will keep on playing his songs.

If all the stars keep on shining,
and the words still keep on rhyming,
he knows that somewhere on the road, 
he’ll find that place where he belongs.

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