Remembering Prince
by Michael Doyle

I remember listening to a nightingale sing
Somewhere in Europe and just about spring
And thinking about things dismissed in haste
A lot of which was only my imagined waste

One of these was Prince, dead at fifty-seven
Did find his way past the rain into heaven
I suppose that only time will tell me that
The music plays, glad and sad, where I once sat

The purple one felt the pulse of a raised eyebrow
Of a people who loved his music and then somehow
It seems that his pain was forgotten by the blind
Some only want their youthful memories left behind

There's a dark side to nearly everything seen
Where a strong spirit transcends rules for being
A little more than someone standing in the purple rain
How did we miss that diminutive man who was in pain?

Too much freedom often leads to the soul's decay
The truth of this should have been seen without delay
Creating something from nothing comes with its price
The minor gods of rock-n-roll play with loaded dice

The music hums where soft voices come to die
Was this the sound heard when mourning doves cry
Feedback vibrates in a lost culture's memory
Even as we hear America singing in her reverie

The purple one felt the pulse of a raised eyebrow
Of a people who loved his music and then somehow
It seems that his pain was forgotten by the blind
Some only want their youthful memories left behind

There's a dark side to nearly everything seen
Where a strong spirit transcends rules for being
A little more than someone standing in the purple rain
How did we miss that diminutive man who was in pain?

Two parts deviled and one part full of wicked charm
The dirty-minded minstrel intended no one any harm
His was a deep discography filled with funky treasure
Worth the listening and reverence, measure by measure

You have to love a man who argues to open up eyes
There's a wisdom there that takes us all by surprise
Smashing musical genres all into the shape of one
The melodies were written and to be forgotten are none

The purple one felt the pulse of a raised eyebrow
Of a people who loved his music and then somehow
It seems that his pain was forgotten by the blind
Some only want their youthful memories left behind

There's a dark side to nearly everything seen
Where a strong spirit transcends rules for being
A little more than someone standing in the purple rain
How did we miss that diminutive man who was in pain?

(c) November 19, 2024   Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved