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It's afterwards
And a calm of sorts is setting in.
And now we know the king
Will never sing again,
But then:

Born in squalid poverty
Down in Tupelo
On the Mississippi.
Then to Memphis
At thirteen,
Living out
His wildest dreams.
A millionaire
The king of rock,
Yet still the heartaches
Just wouldn't stop.

The stately halls
Are filled with shame,
Gone the glory
But not the fame.
At forty-two a famous man
Who no one seemed
To understand.
A mellow tune
Or raucous one,
They play his hits
Even though he's gone.

Heartaches built up
Caused his death,
Weariness stole
His final breath.
Surround by
The parasites,
They took his life.
Gone his dreams
With his ex-wife,
She took his hope with;
His beloved child.

© Copyright 2021, Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia

About this poem

Poem about my idol, Elvis Presley.

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Written on 1980

Submitted by PHIL_ROBERTS on August 28, 2021

42 sec read

Phil Roberts

I am 64 and loves cats, rock music, and horror fiction and poetry more…

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    "AFTERWARDS" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 2 Dec. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/108037/afterwards>.

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