Legend Poem by Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr

Congenital self-royalty,
in name, not by hubris;
lean brown genius
with a gift rare and fresh
no excuses for the abstruse,
this potpourri of masques
and implemented genres,
untamed and loose in swagger
by Artists choice and love,
fast moving energy,
out-of-the-box command,
like a shiny red corvette
off Detroit's assembly line,
not so little as the song
played for you and me,
its owner, now a memory.

Eyes and ears reach towards the sky,
something's happened very sad,
hear the silence of tragedy
cooing loudly o'er willow trees
as rain begins to fall,
soaking, imbuing Dahlias,
the torrents steal the amethyst deep
from each petal, one by one,
through the floodgates bathed in grief
who'd have thought we'd read the epilogue
to this book before it closed.
And, that's when I saw a cote of Doves
flanked in structure overhead,
like a Flying 'V' guitar,
cooing in feral pitch,
then to a empty sky;
and the silence was maddening.
The lifeline had been cut;
there was no survivor.

Heard somebody whisper,
to the nod of many more
*''That is what it sounds like,
when Doves cry''.




*Line borrowed from the 1984 Prince Album, '
_____________'REVOLUTION''_____________
© Prince Rogers Nelson-1984-All Rights Reserved



©Frank James Ryan, Jr. / FjR
MMXVI-All Rights Reserved