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Nov 2011
The taste of copper and abandoned dreams..
The air is stale and dry in the room where
the lonely trumpet man plays.
A broken tune and a broken heart
wails through all hours of the night.
He suddenly stops.
His lips are drawn away from the instrument
and his fingers no longer dance.
A lingering silence seizes every
ounce of his life, depleting his soul.
The nameless, insignificant man collapses,
his faithful trumpet follows him to the floor.
With a struggled last breath, he passes on,
but his music is still ringing in my ears.
Monica Belle Brand
Written by
Monica Belle Brand
2.1k
   Steff and M P Hill
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