A Musician's World
24 August, 2004
Author: Ben Franklin
To him the stage was like a drug,
he didnt have a happy childhood,
to him the stage was giving him a hug,
he dreded the end of the show,
cause he always ended up back at the hotel
getting messed up on snow,
he wanted to feel the buzz,
the adrenalin,
the love of all the people that loved and cared for him,
his fans were his security blanket,
but alcohol was the next best thing
so he drank it,
now the only performance he does is on the street,
begging for some change,
so he can eat.
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Comments on this poem/writing:
| Terrie* (65.150.170.86) -- Wednesday, August 25 2004, 07:27 pm keep that heart pumpin' to inspire your pen...ya got me hooked.. |
| Meridian (205.188.116.200) -- Thursday, August 26 2004, 01:54 am I can visualize you strumming a guitar so, you make it cry... Or playing a tuba, until your body vibrates, or playing a classical piece on the piano by Sebastian Bach, Beethoven or Woolfgang.... You've got the works my man! Good job brother! I love this one! You're on top bud! Smiles, Meri |
| Terrie* (80.6.138.109) -- Thursday, August 26 2004, 01:12 pm terrie* once again thank you for your kind comments ben x |
| Ben (80.6.138.109) -- Thursday, August 26 2004, 01:14 pm hi meri,thank you also for your comments,they always give me a lift. ben x |
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