Familial Tools of Friendship: The Trumpet’s Echo

Nervousness fell away to calmness
My mind played through the trumpet
To direct its harmony to the sun
It was evening, and my ears were
Surrounded by the ringing of
Forfeited hope and anticipated

She had my full attention, as I
Awaited the echo from the silent
Trumpeting to return resonance
That my voice would attempt to
Repeat in song

My truth was bare, and beneath
My skin I sensed her fear of
My strength
Not a cowering fear
Nor the kind
That arises when fighting for
Preservation of reality

It was the kind of fear that
Holds out food to a stray
In wonder at its survival
Not wanting it to
Run away
That it might examine and
To share what it saw with

Truth did not allow me to
Puff up
Nor feel offense
There was laughter
That explained my tears
Still, my heart had not been
Covered in sounds of resonance

A good old fashioned Cry
Found her way through the
As I stood beneath my
Shower’s rain to mix it
With my own

Sunlight beamed through
My throat and the pain
Was released as I wept
In sorrow at
Abandonment’s Rawness

Nature does not pity me
It is not allowed
So all that pities me
Must be kept away

For to pity a soul is to
Weaken it’s natural
Energy and Fervor
To give it cause to consider
It is an inhabitant of
Another’s cage

I need friends that feed
Me with keys
Not birdseed
Friends that will
Sing with me, in answer
To the sun’s patient promise

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