Threnody For A Harmonica Player (Poetry)

He had a gift — a rare ability —
to take a tune — some common melody —
and turn it — like some act of alchemy —
into a pure, exquisite rhapsody.

He fashioned notes — extruded from thin air
sweet gasps of passion, wailing love’s despair
and mixed them — interwove their themes with care
poured them in our ears so all could share

his ecstacy — his captivating art —
the music flowing, pooling in each heart
and changing something, drugging with its dart
and stimulating dreams a world apart

from everything that’s hopeless, filled with woe —
transporting to far places few can go —
allowing souls to waken, stretch and grow
and live a moment’s bliss they would not know

but for him — his breath, his clever tongue
that conjured visions, opened doors for some —
left echoes where, before, there wasn’t one —
his parting gift a blues to ponder on.