The Tunesmith: Parts I and II

Portions of my verses still feel reconstructed. It's been a very drawn out transition for me these last couple of months. Anyway, I don't think I completed the full set of eight works. I: The Masters Masters of the future's past, perceivable to whom they want In rekindled memory, return to with predictions haunt From their retroactive glimpse of any interesting soul They just met in decades hence, the background stretched to countries whole Blazing with the autumn colours, carefree dreams of cheerful play Crumble from the gravity of prophecies they have to say Thrusting in the blameless face of childhood naivety Challenges that lie ahead in full adult complexity Children so encountered want to trust the neighbour as a friend Even when they're bluntly told that he will give cause to defend Though a flashy music show might thrill a youngster as his fate Being hailed a poet would be classed as something that could wait Long and hard would be the struggle nobody would want to get Means afforded by technology to be developed yet Halos and high spirits may await as final destinies Following the horrors that would bring an army to its knees Psychic knowledge of the masters on the slimmest odds astound They whose impact on the timeline promise to be most profound One would need assistance with the will to persevere alone Through a heavy gauntlet of derision on him wrongly thrown Labeled a composer when he'd not begun a note to learn Vigilance against detractors would become his first concern Basking in the company of beings by his peers unknown As the daunting details of approaching strife were to him shown Clement drifted from the message to a more amusing game As he heard a true account of hurdles on his way to fame Bracing for the struggle would begin before his foes were born To be fortified enough to see eroding years outworn Having made him buckle to the imminence of his delay At the hands of malefactors in his future faraway They departed, promising to come back on the crisis' eve Wispy recollections that might only have been make-believe II: The Crew Rupturing the calmness of a residential avenue Raucous were the voices of the dubious production crew Found in institutions and for cheap and unskilled labour picked Glasses raised to toast the damage they'd be able to inflict Concentrated misfits were they, with their stagnant own secure In the spotlight's shadow but susceptible to its allure Bandying a flimflam or a better name that they could steal Centred on the height of the superiority they feel Occupying posts within a thick of unassuming strays Long had they escaped detection, presence lost within a haze Takers of the toxin that they poured in what they had to tell From the spin of pure deceit received a whopping dizzy spell Sprung from stark confinement by the sympathetic hand of hate And with sly accomplices allowed once more to congregate Trouble was assured by the renewal of their shallow leer As their weary victims braced for more assaults along the rear Herschel's raging hormones held him in a state of sorry need On the panic of the young and innocent he had to feed Banished from the playgrounds for behaviour deemed distinctly lewd He succumbed to laughter that allowed his wet tongue to protrude Benedict was more aloof, his sabotage precisely planned To produce the widest devastation that the act could land Drugs that helped him shore up his hallucinations of the self Had to be extracted from the disinfectants on the shelf Being with the Blister sisters, Thelma-Lu and Rosa-Li Often proved the ladies' charm to have been better off to flee As they lent their shapely bodies for amusement or as bait Teeming with desire to illicitly incarcerate Woe to the outsider who'd become the focus of their field With the drops of his own blood, his ruin would be signed and sealed Like a nest of snipers to the passing stranger on the street Who a long expected fate at their hands was about to meet (to be continued)
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© 2007, 2016. Verses by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.