Have been wrestling with this one for a while. Originally wrote prose while waiting to meet a professor, and then rewrote it as a poem while waiting for said professor (a different meeting though).
Still not satisfied with it, have given it up as a lost cause. I have it in my head, just can't express it.
There, once, was a singer of great repute.
People thronged to his concerts, to witness his mastery.
Through his songs, he consorted with the angels themselves.
One day, mid-concert, he stopped singing.
Never again did he sing, the frown of devotion gone forever.
But, the divine song he always heard, and the smile on his lips never fell.