Milton Keens (A Gig-Goer's Poem)

 

On the 25^th of June 2023,

I bought the right, for some revelry,

where two became Royal Blood, Muse lit the fuse,

an invitation, that I couldn’t refuse.

 

Though upon a train, came staleness,

the result of striking, was some tardiness, but,

smiles were for miles, tunes filled the rooms,

a visitation, where I heard the blooms.

 

The sun raged on, being very proud,

listened to us roar, we were so very loud,

reunion was solution, joy wasn’t coy,

a congregation, made the rules not to annoy.

 

Brothers from other mothers, did meet,

with happy blisters, upon their feet,

where the sound was found, pain no longer reigned,

our sentiment, our prayer, for some change.

 

In the Bowl, complaints came to die,

as with one voice, we reached for the sky,

our souls reached our goals; thus, swine became divine,

a definition, stating, that everything was fine.

 

Upon this constancy, we had to retire,

for no more embers, dwelled in this fire, though,

let there be more in store, let dreams be streams,

a gathering, that was called, Milton Keens.