Disappointed Once Again

Last night we watched
The singing merry go round
Oztralian idle
It was a waste
The favourite boys
Were off form
Tired no doubt beyond belief
Or bored
Hopefully angry
With the lack of artistic process.
And the girls
Chose music with
Nothing.
The young man of faith
With the hand reminder
and the head of angular hair
sang of his faith
of his belief
without judgement
without a look at me
and he gave it his all
and the judges
in their powerful stupor
couldn’t cope
and told him his performance
was nothing new
he was nothing
their implication.
He fought
And told of words
Of message
Of connection
The reasons we sing
And write and paint and dance anyway
to be mystic.
The rat faced boy
With the awful hair
tore him down
People don’t care
He pronounced ex cathedra
They make up their minds
And then discuss you for the rest of the song.
Well maybe you mate
But not me
Nor my friends
Nor any artist I know.
Its not about the look or the dance
But the music
Cave, weller, finn, townshend, otis, kilbey,
The act was always a second to the song
To the art.
To communication.
To exploration.
And we wonder
Why do we watch this pathetic drivel
That tears at others souls for our entertainment
Yet taints us too
As we look for something.
But there is nothing.
No peace
No satisfaction.
Only hope
And hints.
Be strong boys.
Stay with the music
It is a jealous mistress
But its reward is
To find yourself
and go beyond.