Treasure the Music
Written for the musicians who
have taken their own lives.
Walking lonely empty streets
Life bequeathed a fair measure
of sadness to me.
A dwelling place just below
The plane of joy.
Madness, sadness, anxiety
Flaunts it's self frivolously.
Howling, weeping, Painful leavings
Moments lost I'm held prisoner
By my memory.
An heir to the fortune of misfortune,
Day after day I grapple with this
Adversary that is my mind.
Will I ever rise above to walk
Upon the plane of joy or
will it forever remain just out of reach.
So be it, if it is meant to be.
To keep insanity at bay I will
Seek kind words to temper
The madness. I will seek
sweet smiles to ease the sadness.
However howling, weeping, painful
Leavings I dread with these
I must contend.
But if it becomes too much
For Me this sadness life bequeathed
Will you harbor disdain for me
or treasure the body of
music that I leave.
Again this is written for
The musicians who have taken
Their own lives.
Copyright © Edward Mccall | Year Posted 2017
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