Zapper the Rapper

So styled, self-styled, but never a rapper really.
A misnomer. He
would mostly sing along to a guitar.
A smidge of Will.I.Am, a bit
of Blues and something of Bill Haley now and then.

That night, the night in question, night of nights, night
never to be forgotten, the night of his favourite gig -
the function room of The Whistling Pig,
with every one of his small cult following
singing along to their favourite song of love,
it hit him like a blinding light, smack between the eyeballs -
afterwards I had to wonder: was it he said eye or was it I?
(Oh my, what memory does to us poor geniusses!) 
So there he was, singing to the faithful how love had hit him
right between the eyeballs. Maybe it was only stage lights...
but whatever in the world it was, it struck and stuck:

If energy and matter are two sides of the same coin -
are one ghost wearing either of two coats,
are interchangeable - as Einstein said - and if the force
of gravity, multiplied a million times in a black hole
can stop time dead in its accustomed tracks, 
then maybe that's because what we call gravity
is but the negative of what we know as time...

And being hit resoundingly like this, he had no choice:
he had to sing it to the world, and sing it as it came. 
He ploughed straight on without a break:

Oh love was sweet and love was kind,
but love grew cold and cruel as hell,
some unknown force had cancelled all
that had been warm and beautiful
and time itself was petrified
and all we loved was crucified
and crushed by wanton gravity.

He had no math.
None of what you might call, education.
No way of proving what he knew,
what he'd been given.

Would song, his song,
would art convince a sceptic world?
The music had no formulae,
the lyrics had no numbers,
his passion had no love,
his love no passion any more.
Just a man
with a song
that no one understood.
A lost love,
a lost voice crying in the wilderness
a lost insight.

The world had lost
what should have been
the next big thing.