I wanted to try something new. I have a backlog of poetry tucked into odd places here and there. Random musing of times come and gone. Times that have helped shape who I am and effected me enough to pour my soul out onto paper. So the first bit is the story, what inspired the poem. And naturally the second bit is the poem itself, written over a year ago. Enjoy.
Once, oh say about a year ago, when I made my daily resolutions and ventures within the grounds of my college campus I came upon a strange sight.
I use to ponder a lot back then. Spending hours working out problems and trying to figure out ways to move various balls down my field of dreams. Although the bleak white brick walls of my dorm were torture to the mind. So I’d take to the campus grounds. Wondering her foggy courtyards by night, ocassionally coming across a fellow tortured soul. These walks were a sort of walking meditation. Where my mantra fell into beat with my steps and my mind would unfold as the sidewalk rolled out underneath.
Their coming was told before their sight was seen. Faint musical notes, dancing through the air. All telling their mournful tales, wrapped and tangled in one another’s tune. First it came as a small whisper, but finally grew into a sad lullaby as they emerged between two buildings in front of me. A perfect sight that I still don’t know if I was meant to see.
These three musicians were all lost in each others music. Having the saddest conversation with their brass I’d ever heard. It stopped me cold in my tracks as I wondered if I should follow. They promenaded across the street, with seemingly nowhere to go and not letting my presence spoil their devine moment in time. Just a group of friends, or long separated kindred spirits celebrating their reunion by telling of their tragic separation. Either way they bore witness and souls to the night. Making her all the more holy for it.
They came and they went, while I still stood there, unsure of what to do. So I thanked some unnamed god and continued down my road and left them to theirs. I let the night remain reverent and was grateful for the beauty I’d tasted
At night I sometimes still hear their sad lullaby.
The triumvirate trissage strolled through the night,
Trumpeting their horns, and feeling their life.
I know not from whence they came,
or where they might go.
For all they had were their instruments and the road.
They toiled not on folly,
in past nor present.
But pressed their keys into melodies.
Weaving their mosaic for few to see.
The night was theirs, reverent to behold.
Following the music, which had no home.
I came upon them, an odd sight to see.
Unprepared for music, but hesitant to leave.
Transfixed by sound, in total disbelief.
I watched and I listened,
unsure of what to do.
So I danced and I swayed,
Afraid of future tunes.
You have a wonderful way with words, both prose and poem.
Very lovely rhythm to your story , that flowed right into your poetry. Excellent!