Hidden in a room
Under a shelf
And a pile of clothes
This is my new home.
I am the forgotten lover
The abandoned friend
The betrayed mentor.
I am the ignored instrument
A saxophone, to be exact
Now covered in dust
My protector
My case
It's now my prison.
Music used to flow
From this beautiful brass bell
Her fingers
They played me.
Oh, how they played me.
Sweet melodies
Heard crystal clear
Have now been silenced
By time
By distance
By apathy.
She has no need for me now
Nor does anyone else
So I sit alone
Dusty
Buried
Abandoned
Hoping,
Forevermore,
That once again
I will sing
Author notes
I am a sax player. However, I haven't played in months, and now there's 6 hours separating my instrument and I. I miss it, and every day I feel a twinge of guilt.
A contest entry
- Inanimate Objects... by surface--tension.
600 points, ended May 21, 2008, 28 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Get it shipped and feel the relief. Not too expensive of action to get done, or if mom aor dad come to visit perhaps they can bring it. cute write.
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oh you must play!!!
I have always wanted a saxaphone, only once did I come close to affording one, then the money was needed for other things. It is such a wonderful instrument, the sound of poetry forming in the soul. -
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What makes this even sadder is that not even two years ago I spent almost $2,000 of my own money on a brand new saxophone. It's the one that's gathering dust. Maybe when I return home, I'll find my inspiration to play again.
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