That little trumpet has lost sound
Go ahead and ask around
Picked up in a house I found
Nesting on the burial ground.

Contorted notes filled the room
After a dusting with the broom
False promise joined in soon.
Perched upon a dim lit flume

The night slipped by, no refrain
It blasted on through the pouring rain
Howled on in the excruciating pain
Of having sheltered existence through a life in vain

When daylight came, it was still the same
Brass with no name, playing for a dame
Really quite the shame, an ever-growing flame
Held within a picture frame, was a revitalized search for fame

As darkness came, I grew tired
Felt like it was about time I retired
Set down the trumpet I acquired
And left the shack feeling quite expired

There that little trumpet lost sound
Now there’s no need to ask around
Left it in the house I found
Somewhat near the burial ground.

From the twist
Came a fractured wrist
It was a fragrant tryst
Lived through a clenched fist
As an abhorrent cyst
Ambition was ******
Opportunities were missed
Told to desist
That they couldn’t exist
No need to resist

People came calling
Through suburbs sprawling
Temptations galling
Or, better yet, appalling
They tried stalling
Conversation crawling
Speaking of balding
The inevitability of falling
Then came the brawling
From memories they were hauling.

The cape hung over
A patriotic Dover
Red and white,
Blue lit might.
Quite the sight
When taking to flight

Confined to the prison
Of limitless vision
A witness to distant lands
Military stands
Saw outreached hands
And all their demands

Late one day
Came heavy dismay
A man found finality
Another, reality
Beyond speech
Things out of his reach

The feeding lines hung
From chorus’ sung
Distant hope transgressed
Faded dismay repressed
Luxury had seeped in
Through sun-spotted skin

Morality appeared
Though initially revered
Some cheered
Others sneered
Seemed to be feared
How horribly weird

So they say that you can walk on water
But, what's the point when it starts getting hotter?
You can't cool yourself by plunging in too deep
Instead you'd find yourself hanging by the skin of your feet.

“The less a man makes declarative statements,
The less apt he is to look foolish in retrospect.”

This was said by someone’s elderly relation
He uttered the words as though they were his own creation.
Turned his tongue with a playful phrase
In hopes it would eleviate his grandson's new phase
The words quickly sunk
Lifting the boy from his flunk.
The child left his life to resume
As he began to pen a script called “Four Rooms”

The flames branching upwards in a spire
It's cruel twists never seem to tire
A dark soul comes from the fire
It's Sam, a kid they all admire
Fables try to claim thee
Through stories of a tree
Branching upwards in a plea

A widow stares at a stain, left by the rain
Constructs a local fane, all in her saviours name
Caught between the fear and guilt
Of living off someone's fame
Knowing the day it all stops, she'll be engulfed by a flame

Abaddon is calling, Ezekiel is balling
Babylon returns
Mathias saw the world, while Belial just watched it burn
With immense follow through
The path becomes true
As he watches triple 7's disciple scamming for a buck or two

Out on a past due lease
The Man Of Peace

..
Violation seeps in through every pore
The girl feels like a common *****
As men poke and **** with joy
Manipulating their new favourite toy
They sneak close enough to callously drool
Then further, breaking the cardinal rule
She feels an unwanted touch
Then begins to cry, deeming it too much.
..
With a purse brimming with cash
And a covered sceptic rash
The pretty woman walks casually
Sheltering any notion of tragedy
This was her first day of vacation
From her new laid back vocation
Though if a client was to approach
She wasn't beyond reproach
..
Horizontally gifted
An archway lifted
Customized displeasure
In any kind of weather
Morals slowly give way
To the luxury of good pay
Loneliness takes a back seat
To those with a thing for feet.
....
Stepped in late
A darkened slate
Crippled by fate
And a desire to be great
She felt like a clown
On her long way down
Then she lost her place uptown
To the notion of a gown
..
Poor girl
She had quite the whirl
Had five long years
Which left a few souvenirs
One being a harsh complexion
and the other being a hollow reflection
Now she has the rest of her life
To wallow in the footsteps of a wife
..
Soon her son would ask what she used to do?
The mother would reply, to who?
Ashamed she would pace
Trying to save face
Confused her son would leave
As the woman ran off to heave
Sick from the thought
That one day she would be caught
..
Sitting at lunch
A bully prods on a hunch
Displays an image
Of his mother's visage
A picture of an awkward pose
Featuring the woman in no clothes
Others began to taunt
As the poor boy went gaunt
....
Over the years some would knock on the door
In a meagre attempt to score
A run in with a *****
Who would take it on the floor
Of course they'd all be turned away
But the pain always seemed to stay
It was shown in the light of day
To be many needles in a sole piece of  hay