Today I was to compose a poem mused by the life of a musician, poet, or other artist.

Then Sing It

What is it like? I will always wonder,
to know at age fifteen or sixteen
what you will do for the rest of your life.

And five or more decades later,
to not only have made it,
but to be at the top,
to still be doing it—still creating.
And to be
a star, a celeb, a household name.
Can you count the awards?

To have your picture
from the covers of several of your many albums
on Mr. Bill’s wall,
to have fifty-thousand plus strangers pay
to hear you sing, to play, what do you say?
To sing it while making your day and theirs.

For a lover of your talent to think of you immediately
when prompted to write a poem about
an artist, a singer, songwriter, both,
and you knew it before I knew who I was.
How does it feel?

Sure, life was not always wonderful,
not as charmed, perhaps awful at times. I know.
I care. But for me there were days
when your music was everything.
Often, it was all that mattered to me.
Maybe it saved me.

Look both ways. Some of us are still trying to figure out life
and who we are and were we are going.
Mind the gaps, the majors, the minors,
and thank someone who doesn’t know who you are.

I did not use a name in this poem because there are so many.