Rhapsody In Blue

His mortal lips move without speaking

His hope becomes evermore fleeting.

Unruly children cry quietly now

 To the bending of rhapsody in blue

As a myriad of fractured, hurtling tomorrows

Delivers unto the silence of his now wistful tune.

The masses he thought were his to rule

 cling now in sore sorrow to this life’s sacred alter.

 They cry in unison with their voice on high.

Yet only silence…cold and cruel silence

 Comes forth from the silver chapels of their mind.

For silently in the midnight when the heart of this man fails

 He will look for his deliverance from the coming travails.

When mountains of bitter scorn on him come crashing down

Worthy friends of thought will fade fast and not be found.

And then there will come those of a flighty, haughty hue.

The men with two faces who in word and deed misconstrue .

They will speak with lips that are split from side to side,

And if you cross their paths in their dark pits you shall abide.

So sit we, so is he…trapped by his own cleverness

 in the walled corners of his mind.

And it is there he whistles to the rhapsody in blue

And counts his sunsets, for very, very soon…

he too will be forgotten and receive his just due.

J. Allen Wilson © three 2006