A Man With a Sax
He was just a man with a sax
There aren’t really many other facts,
But as he played,
I could trace the tracks,
Of the tears on his face,
And built up fears,
From some tough lived years,
I could see in the cracks,
Of his skin.
And as I watched him,
My surroundings became dim,
And my imagination,
Created a projection,
Of his life in motion,
In his eyes,
The windows to his soul,
And Soul, he did play,
As he slurred the notes,
Tapped his foot to the rhythm,
And put his back into the music,
Sliding his fingers, so slick,
But not quite quick,
Enough, for me to notice,
That Mr Sax had no rings,
But, an indented ring mark on his wedding ring finger.
My eyes did not linger for too long,
But as they wandered,
My mind began to wonder,
About this lost love,
This love taken,
And the love given,
But could not be forgotten,
Due to the branding on his finger,
There as a reminder,
That life had once been kinder.
After a few songs, I couldn’t bear to envision his pain,
His eyes told me everything, how he worked so hard with nothing to gain.
Music is all he had left.
After years of trying to make it,
He has a small audience,
Giving him a pitiful applause,
Every time he came to a pause.
He was just a Man with a Sax.
There aren’t really many other facts,
But as he played,
I could trace the tracks,
Of the tears on his face,
And built up fears,
From some tough lived years,
I could see in the cracks,
Of his skin.
And despite his hurt, he continues on his mission,
All he asks is for you to listen.
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