When Hughes writes the blues it sways and it shakes
To the heat of that night and that rhythm it makes.
His pen his piano, his paper the mic,
And he sings a sad song all the lonesome ones like.
O Blues! Cries Hughes as he plays for those fools.
The fools with crushed dreams that cry through a song,
A song still bursting with hope gone for too long.
A song in a song, blues all the same.
The good ole days never came never came.
1 comment:
bobby!
i love this poem. the middle line made me smile with that lovely eternal rhyme blues and hughes. it sounded like a howl in my head :) i think you should perform this piece after you learn the banjo. keep manufacturing those poetic lyrics.
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