In the alleys of the mad metropolis, Where darkness stretches and implodes, I tread in a web of cacophonous care, A distant cathartic dream corrodes.
Once upon a time, a guitar in hand,
I sliced through the torrents of the crowd,
The piercing feedback of adulation,
Against the storms, I stood unbowed.
Beneath the neon glow at midnight,
Fumbling for fervor in the mist,
I breathe in smoke and endless longing,
To the symphony of the city, subsist.
The days of fame, they came and slipped,
An ephemeral taste, a fleeting thrill,
Now my lungs are filled with unspoken dreams,
My eyes cast upward, searching still.
A tune in my heart, a spark in my fingers,
A life that to melody seems wed,
A final ascent ‘pon the peaks of inspiration,
The Melancholic Maestro is far from dead.
August
Stravaig 