I step into a tired down
tavern elegantly enthralled
by the intoxicating aroma of alcohol.
There I see him standing
not to far from the broken battered bar .
A man holding within his
wholesome hand a horn
beautifully burnished
by the beguiling color brass .
Then the horn starts to sing.
It's at first soft simple
then turns serpentine
and strong.A swan song
that careens us all down
to tears .
As we are taken back
to our years of yore .
Where we were
once met with
admiration
and respect .
Where we finally
fly like a dove
into the arms of
not hatred but love
that we once had
before.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry by Hayden McCain
PoetryMy poetry that I wrote while in pain with my headaches because of hydrocephalus and my shunt keep failing me . The videos are my inspirations for my poems.
