LAST BALLAD OF THE UNSUNG ROGUE

Hello,

How is my prose?
Is it pro?
What do you think?
Does it sing to your soul?
Are these lyrics musical?

Troubadour, bard, minstrel
Synonyms for spinster

Lay out my hat
In need of scratch
Cotton dirty fingered cash

Gather round children
Listen to the wisdom

Aimless gypsy aims true
Suits up, lives anew

Skill set of clowns
Smile upside down frown

Day to day actor
Sad comedian, trickster

Now turns sleight of hand to the system
Has ghost audience wincing

Waiting for prestige
Gasps gulped, in need

Of reveal, of turning point
Sorry none but this phrase I coin

No matter what the disguise
The player is wise guy

Knucklehead
A clown in his head

Under veil of stats
IQ tests
Surprising evidence of high
Intelligence

Hmm

But don’t you know
Once a rogue
No matter what disguise
Heart of gold wise guy

Only costumes he dons
He questions all
That thorn in your side
Always watching from sidelines

Neutral observer
Well… come closer

More like whistleblower

Makes satire
Of your fragile
Glass lives, your stories
He spins, turns odes to glory

We are legend
Even air we bend
Creating our games
No need for fame

Just documenter
Moleskin journaling
Candid observing
This rogue scrawls poems

Strange
Where did that come from?

Theses verses
From alternate universe?

How is my prose?
Is it pro?
What do you think?
Does it sing to your soul?
Are these lyrics musical?

Many mediums
Multi-media
To say same thing
Living life inside a dream

Clown now turns to academia
But wink, keeps red nose in pocket
Will never unplug from socket
Of creative current

Art major?
No, don’t need teacher
Anymore

Why do we need credit?
Don’t you take debit?
Must scratch
For more cash
But first in debt

Unlocks latch
With key, is it better? we’ll see
It better be

Play system
Hard for spinster

How have I been turned?
But I will return

To the street, put out metaphorical hat
And juggle, tumble, try this and that

Scoundrel can go to school
But you can’t take the rogue’s yarn from the spool
He’ll weave into anything
Til in your head it sings

How is my prose?
Is it pro?
What do you think?
Does it sing to your soul?
Are these lyrics musical?

Troubadour, bard, minstrel
Synonyms for spinster

He wanders into
Institutions
A mole
A plant
Fodder for more stories
More trance than entrance

Self hypnosis
The magician takes his own dose

Shrugs off the cloak
No enemies to smote

Nah

Just documenter
Moleskin journaling
Candid observing
This rogue scrawls poems

Any good?
Ah well, who knows?

No free prose
When you must go pro

Turn debit
To credit

This mole’s new skin
Getting grades, taking notes
But moleskin still in pocket just in case

No worries
The bard can’t be killed
This noteless minstrel
Like the rest
Can’t put down ink and quill

So watch for next performance
In town square
When thrown off disguise
Shall metamorphosize

Never will I
Cease to philosophize

To the slow clap of one hand
Handful of fans

The world to this storyteller
Who needs only corner
Or campfire smolder
To enthrall you into a story

Thank you, thank you
Encore?
You make me blush, sure

But wait through cliffhanger
For now must sheath my dagger

And throw off cloak
To walk among respectable folks
And smart, sharp, pretty co-eds

Sorry
This rogue’s foley

Was waiting too late
To infiltrate

Now will add more aces to his sleeve
To pull from shirt
And chip on shoulder shirk

How is my prose?
Is it pro?
What do you think?
Does it sing to your soul?
Are these lyrics musical?

Don’t know, can only assume
For next act stay tuned…

Don’t worry
The quiet mime
Will return in time
To these rhymes

Even under achieving performer
Cycles back to symbolic street corner

Alas
No lass
Sticks around
Just an ass
This lad

Life’s understudy
Now hurries
Before curtain raises
To learn lines and phrases
So on new stage sounds smart
Playing new part

How is my prose?
Is it pro?
What do you think?
Does it sing to your soul?
Are these lyrics musical?

Any watchers?
Do you applaud
To me by the river selling water?

Hapless bard turned scholar
Waiting to come back to street corner metaphor
For still the former

Forsake art not
Forsaken are we not?

Tale’s been told
Bookmark into this chapter fold

Understudy clown scholar
Doing homework for dollars

Farewell,

Says the Rogue

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