A minstrel sits down
With his Technicolor mandolin
Accompanied by his ensemble.
Speechless, he strums on the strings,
A tune that excites heart and soul,
Bringing rapture to his audience.
The mindless admirers
Dance to his vain ballads,
Oblivious of shame or fatigue.
And yet he sits down, heartless,
Heartless, unmoved by his tunes
Or his blood-boiling songs…
He who sings and plays
Yet never moves along
To a spell of his own making.
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On My Way HomePoetry
This has been a long journey. © Tenkouken/Mark Manalang/Unlimited Grub Grabs™ 2014 All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, translated, or transmitted in part or in whole, in any manner, without the written consent of the author...