The sound of perfection


Pure and refined silence.

I struggle to find meaning in the sounds.

To make music is to paint a picture with no canvas.

A lone hand embraces my soul;

Gripping me, carrying me, holding me.

I feel light, warmth bubbles through my heart.

With guidance, I take a breath. 

One person, one chance, one breath.

My horn cries from the rooftops.

I am calling for her.

She is gone.

A beam of light sheds down on my tears.

I remember her warmth.

Lips pursed, eyes red, I smile.

With her, I am everything.

Without her, I am nothing.

Once hers, now mine;

The sound of perfection.

This poem is about: 
My community


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