Brazen Silver Memories

Did I ever tell you I used to play the trumpet?

I did, it's true.

Now you might not think the trumpet is

a very cool instrument,

but I assure you, back in the day,

I was quite good.

I played for years, you know.

I played all sorts of music

for all sorts of people.

I screamed on high B's

when the music would burn.

I tore through the scales

and I shouted for more.

I pondered the blues

when my heart was in tune.

I brooded and crafted

and sang through the brass

like a lovelorn vagrant.

I wrote in the air

with invisible ink

that could be seen for miles

if you cared to listen for it.

I played galas and galleries,

dances and dinners,

basements and theaters,

ballparks and bars.

Life was my music

and music was life

and one could not exist on its own.

To me,

those times are the fondest of memories,

though I frequently wish they were not.

For who can give up their life and soul

and not feel a little wistful at its passing?

Written by David Briggs, 2011.  First published in The Catalyst Online Vol. 5 (The Catalyst Literary Magazine Vol. 35 Issue 1)