The old photograph.

The old photograph.

It was a dog eared picture,

Fading with age.

Who was that guy?

He looked a little too cool,

Trying hard not to care

He was somewhere else, not here not there.

Too mannered and insouciant.

A ridiculous goatee,

That barely clung to his chin,

And would take flight in a strong wind.

An angry pout just too pronounced,

And the bare feet,

What was that about?

Guitar case slung over his shoulder,

Hid a coat in the case

For when it got colder,

Played for pennies on the corner,

His own songs, when he felt bolder,

Nobody listening.

He still remembered the words,

Some of them.

Looking back they were so

Full of clichés,.

And simplistic

Teenage angst.

A quazi rebellion,

That was naive and absurd.

No wonder those words were never heard,

Even when sung with feeling,

Invested in meaning.

Or so he always told himself.

When listening to the radio.

He believed, if only he had faith

Tried that little bit harder

It could have been him.

His words would be writ large,

Catalogued, in books,

Studied on college courses,

Carried in bags and folders,

On other peoples shoulders.

Until with a sigh

He let that time fly.

Those days were gone,

He had moved on.

It only took a second,

But like us all,

He just got older.