Old Johnny Matt

This poem was written out of the blue. I wanted to tell a story through a poem. Random thoughts churned into a mini-story and here it goes:)

I know not my father, I know not my mom,

No brother, no sister, no family, no home. 

A guitar, some clothes, a rucksack and a hat, 

All these I got from old Johnny Matt. 

Old Johnny was a bit loony, he was so old,

He had nobody to speak to, but had a heart of gold. 

He took me in and fed me some bread, 

Showed me a tiny corner, to sleep on a bed. 

Old Johnny was so good, he taught me guitar,

Strumming and drumming, adding beats to our bar. 

We stood on the sidewalk, busking, mane insane, 

Crowds gathered around us, all way down the lane.

Old Johnny loved me, there was never a blot,

We cooked together, and walked a lot. 

The days were magical, I would forget them not! 

Nothing can match them, not even tons of ingot. 

Old Johnny, I loved him, he was my dear old king,

He didn’t call me “son”, but he gave me his ring. 

Merry and joyful, my heart was so warm, 

I hugged dear Johnny, who was but calm. 

Old Johnny grew old, as days flew by,

Frail did he go, he had days to count by. 

He called me to his bed, took his hand did I, 

He gave me a locket, painted a golden dye. 

“Open it, after my life”, Old Johnny said,

Tears stung my eyes, I kept them instead. 

With him I was, day and night, 

Singing him songs, cheering him up bright. 

On a September night, Old Johnny was gone,

I laid him in a coffin, made of glass that sparkling shone. 

I buried him in Blackpool, next to Mr. Brushwicks, 

And sat down on the edge, so gloomy, in a fix. 

I took out the locket, pried apart the wings, 

I saw two tattered photos, of me and my king, 

Out fell a paper, doodled with red hearts, 

In it was written, “I love you son, my dearest of them lot."