![]() JazzA Poem by Ben Taylor![]() An experience.![]() Notes, like smoke, Billow from the brass tongue That glints the reds, the purples Of the stage. His shroud of mist Is speared through with A spot light That illuminates only the Music dancing from His fingers, His lips. Glancing upwards, He allows a brief glimpse Of his soul; In an instant, however, He returns to his aura of Mist, of mystery. The sharp shatter of cymbals In a crescendo-- The slow, brassy drawl That melts conversation Like a stray snowflake. Unanticipated silence-- Followed by a splash, A trickle, Of applause. As human as you or I, He exits, His golden instrument a mere Extension of another life, Another man.
© 2011 Ben TaylorAuthor's Note
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8 Reviews Added on June 8, 2011 Last Updated on June 8, 2011 Author![]() Ben TaylorColumbia, MOAboutAlmost everything I write now is relatively real, so just read what I write and get to know me. more..Writing
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