The Man and His Music
Appeared as well traveled as he did.
I did not recognize the music, and it seemed out of tune.
He had a symphony playing in his head;
you could see it in his eyes, drifting into his music.
Never saying a word, just going through the motions and letting the notes sore.
He plays a somber melody, but he is not sad,
he is where he wants to be, with his music and the people.
The brick building frames him as a painting, letting the scene exist in history and in the present.
Without the man sitting on his stool, violin case open beside him, his bow worn, his instrument well cared for, you would notice a missing segment of space.
After time passes and journeys are met, the music will play and play on it shall.