The Busker Poem by Craig Dawson

The Busker

The harbour lights were shining bright
as the ferry left the quay,
The air was thick and misty white
it was raining out at sea,
I heard the sound of a violin
somewhere beyond the light
and I walked towards the distant song
in the shadows of the night.

There by a wall a busker stood,
there was no one around,
All alone with bow and wood,
a cane lay on the ground,
I sat and watched him in the dark
though I could hardly see,
I listened to the tunes he played as
I lay my swag beside me.

I'd never felt so warm before
yet cold beneath the sky,
In the misty air I closed my eyes
and imagined I could fly,
I circled wide, my spirit free -
the shackles far below.
It did not seem to matter then,
I had nowhere to go.

And the busker was within the dark
a single shining light,
where hopes and dreams are forever lost
in this city's darkest night,
Where lives are long forgotten and
dreams are seldom blessed,
Where the longest road has ended
and memories laid to rest.

The air felt damp upon my face
in the passing of the night,
I walked alone through shades of grey
in the early morning light,
Past ageing piers and broken gates
of lead and rusted wire,
and old tin cans and bottles burnt
in the ashes of a fire.

And I sat upon a wooden bench
as rain clouds filled the sky,
I watched a pigeon at my feet
and I wished that I could fly.