When the horn
sounds the jazz begins—
Unity
rediscovered,
A crisscross
divergence of souls…
Coltrane
steals the birthright of his heritage
makes it into
music—
The horn
blasts loud and not so pure—
Life lives
between the notes
not at the end
of the song.
Painfully
hidden tones magically appear
dragged out
one by one by one
breathless
gasps of tonal agony.
Coltrane plays
tears of subjugation
between notes
of joyous rhapsody
His horn
speaks a thousand languages—
This axe falls
in the wilderness – always heard.
Coltrane’s
voice never silenced…
Life loved but
worn hard
gritty
sandpaper chokes back the beat
children’s
faces disappear in the wind
hardcore
pavement clogs his shoes with destiny…
His horn
blasts out elegy, sonnet and love song—
Coltrane works
the tools of musical justice
the fire in
his lungs burning deep.
This dragon’s
roar plays hot and cold running notes.
Coltrane’s
solitary life form silhouettes a man playing
his life like
jazz.
