Townshend Poem by Mich Bassuk

My fingers are bleeding
The blood trickles down my hand
My hand flung up and back down again
my guitar strings broke one by one
as I tried to replicate what you've done
I moved on to paper and pen
and suddenly things come more naturally
I don't have to pretend
to be something I don't want to be
I let your melodies and words feed my ears
the grapes of wisdom, joy and everything good
I never realized the potential I had till I heard your words
and now I know that there is a god in this world