"Drabbard"

© 2007 by Andersen Silva

Moving through space,
     Lost in time,
Searching for words
     And trying to rhyme...

The universe
     Of writing song
Exists outside
     Where we belong.

I sit and stare
     At the blank wall.
Reject ideas,
     Pace down the hall.

And then some thoughts
     Materialize,
I feel a spark;
     My fingers rise.

CHORUS:
The drab bard writes songs,
     They don't all ring true.
Some come from his life;
     Some are about you.


I'll search for a theme,
     Though sometimes I won't.
My songs all make sense...
     Except those that don't.

Matching my words
     To cadence is tricky.
But I persevere,
     'Cos I can be picky.

Wry lyricist
     Armed with angst and dry wit,
I pour out my soul
     And make the lines fit.

And what of the tune?
     Melody counts,
Though not always
     In such large amounts.

CHORUS

I'm tougher than flannel;
     I'm harder than wool.
My rhapsody's boho,
     Or maybe it's bull,

But create I must,
     And write frantically.
The muse is upon me;
     Well, not literally.

Fingers to keyboard;
     A chorus, a verse.
Waxing eloquent
     Or just being terse...

Tying it to music
     And pinning it down
Is mildly sadistic,
     Or so I have found.

CHORUS