There lived a man who wished to die,
With lips malformed so when he’d sigh
The anguish that emerged was like
The first sunrise of Spring.
The humans that he’d never known
Had from all places to him flown
With no intent to comfort him
But just to hear him sing.
The singer sang, the cryer cried
To oceans deep and mountains wide
And every human listener thought
The singer read their mind.
The speaker spoke, the moaner moaned.
His sorrows said, his hopes intoned
Leaving unspoken just enough,
Ensuring seekers find.
He screamed at them in loneliness:
A girl in far too short a dress
Confused by why she couldn’t find
A man who’d stay ’til morning
And, to the men who eyed her, said
To see her heart before her bed
But all they heard were pretty words
And not the singer’s warning.
He sang to those who owned the gold,
The young who’d never gotten old,
The old who’d never been a child,
To those without a penny.
His sharing was his means to cope.
His medicine was spreading hope
Perhaps to you, the listening few
Among the mindless many.
The living listened as he cried,
He sang also to those who died,
A song for all who made mistakes
And sought to change their fate.
Some say that Satan turned to hear
And even shed a single tear.
Although the angel fell from grace
His wings might still bear weight.
No one asked the singer’s name.
To his wake no listeners came
For clouds above were pearly white
And sky above was blue.
Thus did the singer move along.
No longer needed was his song.
The singer lives forever
Even though his wish came true.
The Daily Travesty 