Street Performer
Red line stop.
State and Lake.
Everytime.
I see a street performer with a guitar and a happy, raspy voice.
He sings songs of Marley and the Boys from the Beach.
He sings songs of elightenment and joy,
guitar case open and half empty.
Clink and clank, there goes the change...
the remaining 12 cents from that mans 8 dollar frappacino (hold the foam, half latte, double caramel, jumbo size).
I stand and stare and fish for my wallet.
Drop him a five, green paper in a sea of the aged and rusted, unwanted coins.
Goosebumps.
Nice melody, bro.
Wish someone would buy him a Martin or a Ramirez instead of that First Act.
Something tells me he deserves it.
He stands in tattered clothes and strums his songs of hope.
Most too busy, chat and interupt on their cell phone.
Inside him, I see myself,
but mainly what is missing.
This man has nothing with which this society would deem worthy,
yet I respect him the most for it.
He smiles while I frown.
He has nothing but the unwanted change and blisters on his fingers.
While everyone else is stressed, bitter and frantic...
He remains unchanged by the pain of the world,
He is happy to be alive.
It shows.
He is happy to do what he loves.
He is broke.
Why can't we all learn something from him?
Rather than to give him one second,
a dirty gesture,
or to just keep walking...?
State and Lake.
Everytime.
I see a street performer with a guitar and a happy, raspy voice.
He sings songs of Marley and the Boys from the Beach.
He sings songs of elightenment and joy,
guitar case open and half empty.
Clink and clank, there goes the change...
the remaining 12 cents from that mans 8 dollar frappacino (hold the foam, half latte, double caramel, jumbo size).
I stand and stare and fish for my wallet.
Drop him a five, green paper in a sea of the aged and rusted, unwanted coins.
Goosebumps.
Nice melody, bro.
Wish someone would buy him a Martin or a Ramirez instead of that First Act.
Something tells me he deserves it.
He stands in tattered clothes and strums his songs of hope.
Most too busy, chat and interupt on their cell phone.
Inside him, I see myself,
but mainly what is missing.
This man has nothing with which this society would deem worthy,
yet I respect him the most for it.
He smiles while I frown.
He has nothing but the unwanted change and blisters on his fingers.
While everyone else is stressed, bitter and frantic...
He remains unchanged by the pain of the world,
He is happy to be alive.
It shows.
He is happy to do what he loves.
He is broke.
Why can't we all learn something from him?
Rather than to give him one second,
a dirty gesture,
or to just keep walking...?