The Soul Singer

Marked by the downbeat of the bass drum,
The upbeat of a snare forces swaying,
A cymbal, riding, marries the two together,
And singing smoothes them out,
Driving the music that is playing.

Spoken first among the black,
Moving to a crowd of white,
Starting on the left,
And moving to the right,
It's more popular now than ever before,
A new version of four decades before.

But why only now, can it play?
Was it not accepted yesterday?
Looks should be separate from the music.
It's heard, not seen,
Or is it now seen, not heard?

Perhaps, I'm wrong about it,
But I'm pretty sure, I'm right,
The struggle is no different,
Whether you cross the ocean overnight.

Since looks don't matter,
It's not fair to criticize,
I just wonder why music's not legitimized,
Until it's seen through familiar eyes.

It's named for its effects on your soul,
As the horns fill, within you, a gaping hole,
Which comes from real pressures.
So light, yet so bold,
Making simple seem the best,
Not as serious as all the rest.

The song plays over and over, on repeat,
Causing inspiration, lifting off the feet,
Movement is essential,
In all parts of the temple.

I can't help but hear it,
Again and again, driving my thoughts,
Yet blocking them out,
But it's okay,
They won't get stuck that way.

It's helped to clear my mind, and to relax,
As it has for many others,
Since its first imprint on wax.
Not just once, but over many years,
It has comforted many fears...
Cheers!
-Akeem Lawrence, 5/9/08