My Bluesy Chair

This is the chair I use when my heads not there,
and when I feel low, and touching despair.
When I think about my schooldays and departed friends,
and when I was good looking, and enjoyed weekends.

Hey man, I could pull in those days, of long hot nights,
dancing and romancing, beneath coloured lights.
I worked hard during the day before going out on the town,
and took my chances on life’s merry-go-round.

I was a real bad boy as far as the ladies are concerned,
I was the envy of the guys who never seemed to learn.
A man and a woman are just like a guitarist and guitar,
and no strings means a relationship can only go so far.

Now I’m alone, washed out, and sitting in my bluesy chair,
regretting that time ran out of finding a love that wasn’t there.
I guess I still miss that red-hot woman that I nearly married,
but unfortunately she died when she miscarried.

poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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