Adulation is Ironic

Adulation is Ironic

On stage the musician’s soul’s naked

There’s nothing to cover it

The writer, poet, actor and singer

If in truth, as well, rend their soul sackcloth before all

But you stand alone witnessing the swaying throng

Feel their energy and the mingling smells of weed, sweat and song

For yes, you can smell the metal strings

And when the amplifiers cry you hear them die

Then at the end of the nite, when you’re tired and spent

Outside it’s always cold, even when the summer’s bold

And whom do you have in that Janis Joplin moment?

When all that’s felt is absolute abandonment

The emptiness of the artiste’s soul

The realization of the disappearing echoes that made you whole

Irony of emotions driven by adulation

You leave it all behind, hit by the metaphysical of lonely reality