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Poem
There is always a song to be sung
and I surround the one on the stage,
crowding him, reminding him
to sing, to dance, to pretend...

I like the fearful,
the devotees...
I smile to them my Mona Lisa smile,
as they beg the Lord for forgiveness,
for inspiration for clemency,
if he listens, if he cares,
if he inspires,
it's well beyond my care.
Clemency he has none to give,
for I am forever inspiring and certain.

There is always a thing or two
that they can daily do to forget:
and as they do, 
religiously,
time takes them by the hand
and delivers them all to me.

The soulful,
I take away
in majestic strides,
as the courageous
I sit beside,
as they drive their cars
hundreds of miles an hour
over a cliff, against a tree.

The uninspired
I arrive late to collect,
in their forever muted state
they go peacefully,
in their sleep.
There will be people there,
crying.
I come, collect them and move on.

As I walk away with them
I see a building,
a fence, a nice garden
that reminds me of someone.
Step by step, in my lead shoes,
I tiptoe on the others:
the passionate,
the inspired,
as they put the final touches
on their latest creations,
as they begin their opus.

We walk away together
and I hear their passionate tales
of their unfinished masterpieces:
a beautiful painting,
a beautiful score,
a perfect quilt,
the first typed pages
of a new novel
that would inspire millions.

A late afternoon,
an early morning stroll,
is always better
accompanied by someone
whose time has run out.

I watch them
passionately describing
how grandiose it would have been:
they are still focused,
strangely connected,
eternally unaware,
forever dreaming,
and I am the one destined
to exist only in their stories
and the wondrous promises held
in their unfinished work.

On rare occasions,
I read over their shoulders
and find absolute beauty,
and I wait, teary-eyed,
ignoring the clock,
until the lead marks the paper
one final time,
one final note:
the end.

They see me
and acquiesce,
and I take them away
into the night
quietly,
and I know I should feel betrayed
but genius is rare indeed
and mediocrity makes me forgotten.
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