Child's Play: The Bard Of The Capitol Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

When the night falls
And the light from the streetlamps sprawl
Past the curbs, the spaces in between cars
There is a symphony heard from a man and his scars.

But then in the morning
The clouds are laced, love they are carving.
You will never find the bard of the capitol.
He reveals himself only during nightfall.

During the twilight,
He would frequent the bars
And then with his drunkenness, the solitary light
From a streetlight triggers the farce:

A bard of mockery singing his wails
Of how emptied his chasms are, how vain are his trails.
The people toss him coins, loot and even clothing
This incomprehension has been endlessly marring.

A couple entwined passed him by,
In the night’s destitution, he gave a smile too wry
And started singing absolution: “And if these heavens pour
Madly upon these lovers, let them melt upon the concrete floor.”

The mad couple was amused
That they were compelled to sing for his muse!
These dire fellows are in need of clarity
That he needs not these petty attempts of charity.

He plucked his cumbersome guitar
Thinking, his voice could reach a place so far.
He started to sing, “If the seas will never bequeath
You again to me, then let me die with the waves that writhe.”

Nothing ever made sense, only comical relief -
The heavens see nothing wrong with a man fazed with grief.
Lonesome the nights are, drunk by the capitol, singing.
Lonelier the nights do get one by one, grieving, dying.

The passers-by, the people inside automobiles stared
And even said, “What a silly fellow, his fate is snared! ”
The sleaze will never leave, the bard of the capitol
Even if a thousand songs billow over a thousand more nightfall.