His Blessed Existence

His eyes shaded over by satin curtains,

This master sees and lives through the vision of sound,

His corner is his world,

The vibrations of dancing passengers paint an image more glorious that anything we can comprehend,

Each note the auditory birth of a majestic memory,

The masses that pass by initially see heartbreak,
This soul-man though represents something that so few will ever understand,

Although his eyes are blinded his ears swallow the incomprehensible orchestra of life,

His beret laid out at the forefront of his stage for loose change at the interval,

A hundred evening gowns gracing his hall of grandeur in every waking moment,

He pictures face after face,

Beaming and tearing,

Hands clasped beneath every blushing cheekbone,

Each day another encore,

He lives for his passion for it is his way of embracing his blessed existence,

A planet surrounded by aggression and misery calmed by his fingers caressing his gleaming mistress,

It is then that all around truly see his euphoric ideal of a spotless life,

Music is appreciated by many but so little truly fall,

This conductor on the corner devotes everything,
His visible impairment is nothing to be pitied; he deserves more than that,
His days are spent seeing a world that we cannot,
He dwells in the grandest of theaters not the cold inner city cobbles,
His princess more divine and elegant than any female form we may conquer,
Sharing a lifelong mutual understanding that shows no sign of breaking,
His world as heavenly as he wants it to be,
A concept more romantic that the crackling and creaking of a treasured vinyl,
Imagination is forever his reality,
The Prince of the Pavements and his Beautiful Brass Bride.