All creation is mute as they wait, barely breathing . . . and then comes a crescendo, a cacophony, a celbration.
In the glare of stages lights, you suddenly appear, alight as you catch each eye and whisper them your invitation.
These are the moments lost in time, magic pieces of glory.
Those watching you are frenzied toward a hysteria you control.
You are no longer just a nice Jewish man from Brooklyn . . . you are every dream come true for every hopeful soul.
Every heart beats in concert with the one in your chest.
Young girls fall in love with you, and old women remember feeling mute with love/lust and open admiration.
No one notices that you are older, and maybe not as limber.
You live within a kingdom where you are loved and revered.
My own eyes see only that you are the object of my heart.
It’s been a journey I can still remember from it’s soul-shaking start.
Superstar, we are growing older, the mirror doesn’t lie.
I grew gray along with you, here in the world that is mine.
Shadow-years came to paint my face, gravity to bend me.
But you and I remain young in your music sublime.
We will walk the bricks of time, not together, but not alone.
Long ago I gave my heart to a singer who stirred my soul.
Superstar, you still rock my world.
Years scatter like leaves, and the part of you that makes part of me, also makes a whole.
