The Master's Cat

I'm just here for poetry and to help poets. As far as I know, Jezzabel has never helped any poets become more proficient in their craft. I am about to post a poem now, but jezzabel is clearly not here for the same reason, instead posting these stupid, outdated rock videos which have nothing to do with poetry, just to annoy and frustrate me (so she thinks). Now I ask you;, WHO is the one is obsessed? Not me, it is her; I tried reasoning with her, but you cannot reason with a "rascist bigot", especially if you're the "wrong kind", (as I obviously must be). I am not one of the "master race", so there's nothing I can do. Anyway. here is the "Master's Cat"
*****************************************************************************************************
The Master's Cat
(Based on a story by Curtis Cost)
For Ksusha the Cat

The music fades, the lights draw low,
The swelling din that must subside;
With joyous music finally stopped,
This is the day that the master died.

The studio lights fill every nook,
Except for the chair where the master sat;
The last light finally reveals the truth,
In that seat there now sits a cat!

Not just any cat, but the dearest friend,
Who the master told his secrets to;
This stoic, furry "special guest",
Poised and ready for his interview.

The announcer steps to the front in haste,
Impeccably groomed and nattily dressed;
Apparently combed with buttered toast,
He leers with contempt at his "special guest".

"No friends nor family of any kind,
So that his work might carry on;
No successor to this calling able,
To create such joy with his baton."

"This self centered fuzzball seated here,
Who alone had known the master's care;
This useless postule always with him,
At his side always-everywhere!"

"Nothing to give and nothing to lose,
Nothing to gain, what a terrible waste!
The master's secrets in this creature's keeping?
Gone forever, such a bitter taste!"

"He feels not the slightest tinge of sadness,
No grief shows on his whiskered face;
The master's gift in this cat's keeping?
Gone forever, what a huge disgrace!"

As "old cementhead" ends his show,
Not the slightest noise does the kitty make;
The lights were dimmed, the silence fell,
As the master's cat seems wide awake.

The banging of chairs, the clanging of props,
The master's theme would long subside;
When they arrived at the master's seat,
They found that the cat indeed, had died.

Drenched with grief and wet with tears,
This lifeless critter had finally spoken;
In life the creature could ill express,
That the dam had burst, his heart had broken!.

From the torture of inconsolable loss,
That the wretched human heart can't see;
To the still wet teardrops on the master's seat,
The master's cat was finally free!

Those fading lights, the far off strains,
The din that would at last subside;
But the small, sick heart concealed from view,
This day, the master's cat has died!

The dying creature could not describe,
The music he'd heard and places he'd been;
But his furry corpse will indeed attest,
To the fathomless grief so deep within.

That cannot be heard nor understood,
For the priceless love that dwells inside;
The bond between these kindred souls,
Lives on even after both have died!