The Saxophone

I heard it as I hear the falling rain upon my roof. A faint, distinctly sad, alluring reverie of pain That glides upon the air and warms a chilly winter breeze With mellow tones and trickling scales that tantalize the brain. Ascension of a staircase took me even closer still To the soulful sounds of purest anguish drizzling toward the door. Husky, deep, they rushed me, smothering my heart and mind, Stacking sullen-stones around me, an emotion-ridden tor. The earth gave way below me; I, suspended in the air By some unseen force of beauty, something keeping me afloat, Turned to fully face the source of such a sad refrain Just as he finished playing what he felt, he knew, he wrote. His eyes, cold, steely blue, found my open gaze at once. He met my stare with quiet solitude, and through the railway dust I saw the sadness of his tune intensely mirrored in his face. How sad that he should feel such pain, it seems he's only just a boy. No older than I. So sad... I ascend the second staircase, for I should not miss my train. I look back just once more, to hear another glimpse of art. His eyes, now closed, bleed tears, and I can very clearly see: On his cheek, musician's tears, and in his song, his heart. And I cannot turn away.but i did...obviously, or i wouldn't be here in front of my computer at four in the afternoon, unable to rid my mind of this image. as doc watson put it, i saw beauty the way it was supposed to be heard. thanks for reading Written January 24th, 2002 © on Jan 24 2002 08:04 AM PST   0 • 1