Salty Jack's Trumpet

Silouettes dance by the shadows light
trumpets felt the space that peeks through the cracks
light could be seen
nobody knows his pain as those rickety fingers felt
the mellow tunes that consumed the way that old trumpet
would moan
silk roses bloomed against the dresses that painted
most of the room fading inbetween the walls whose color
has seldomly faded
they rocked back and forth to the sound that old trumpet would moan
melodies never ignored by those rickety fingers that painted his picture bright
he'd play from dust til dawn
he'd paint his tunes til dusk was gone
ebony hands that saw dark hues brushed in ivory
pen strokes hardly seen as that old trumpet played it'self
nobody understood but him
as that old trumpet spoke by itself

by Kewayne Wadley

Other poems of WADLEY (1341)

Comments (1)

think we have all been there at some point,10 for patience or is it persistance