Petty Things

by Metacifer

in Completed Works

Petty Things

The bluesman sitting by the road-side
Wailing on his precious harp
Motioned to me, "Come closer," he said
And taught me a wonderful song.

I played it for my friends,
They all laughed and cheered,
And loved me, they were happy!
So I went back to that bluesman,
"Teach me another song."

I played for my friends and they cheered,
Till boredom, they laughed no more.
I went back to him and he taught me another
Another after another over other,
Until he finally said, "Sorry kid,
But I'm all out of songs."

So what happened to that kid
When he ran out of songs
To play and impress his friends?

Why, he made then, brand new songs.
Songs wonderful, impressive.
For petty things as praise and love.
Petty things as praise and love.
Petty things as praise and love.

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Oct 1st 2008
Tags:
free verse narrative petty
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"Metacifer, does this poem have some sort of personal meaning into it? Some inner guilt that's trying to surface itself, perhaps? Is your subconscious trying to tell you something you can never admit yourself?"

YOU SILLY. MY STUFF CAN HARDLY BE DESCRIBED AS "WONDERFUL" NOR "IMPRESSIVE."

OH U.

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