This is a piece I wrote when I was in despair. A melancholia night, my son on my mind, my soul at unrest. The wine flowed, the empty bottles rolled across my lonely chamber floor. My heart wept for the loss, thus I penned.
He drank with Hank on the streets of Main
and took the drug that gave him courage
to live a day longer and fought in
the back with vermin and thugs.
Who bloodied his knuckles as
bar flies looked on in disgust
and found himself laying in the
gutter at the break of dawn
sometimes with nothing on
that wasn’t stolen from his soul.
So let the music end as the story
closes and the shutters of my life
cast out the light and bring in
the darkness that settles on
my grave, remember that I lived
that I shared and cared for my
children that abandoned me
and left me to the bottles that
lay empty upon my studio floor.
No more shall Vincent share
he departs and crosses over
to the other side of life and leaves
no legacy that is worth a paupers throne.
The Kings and Queens will say that
this jester was a mockery to their
court and spilled his ink on blind
eyes who rejected him as simply
a poet who knew not what he scribed.
Farewell to Vincent let his soul
flutter and wander in the mist of
shallow graves beneath the
marker of his Muse who buried
there knew he would join him soon.
His heart fails, his tears fall
yet there she waits on the other
side of the bridge of tears with
her arms open to receive him
Vincent you have arrived and
the journey was not in vain.
You left your mark, your Quill
is silent now and falls to your
studio floor in memory of
Adieu my passionate poet your
soul is set free.
© Copyright 2012 by Vincent Moore. All rights reserved