City and Soul

City and soul screaming out of a black man’s horn.
Tearing down the avenue with unmatched care and pace.
Marching with the procession, to the distinct rhythm of Summertime.

Performing on a stoop, he keeps his seat with trumpeting pride.
Turning in the air hitting ears 'round the brick-laden boulevards.
No surprise, the stomping feet pass by in cadence with his melodious despair.

His piercing voice rejects love long lost, like a guitar without frets;
The town’s pounding heartbeat arranges behind each crashing song like a cymbal keeping time.
Tapping feet results to dancing in the saintly streets as the lonesome man cries.

The misery strikes a chord within stumbling tourist's trails.
Smooth as sorrow, the gliding tone of the tempered tunes tremble in the twirling alley lights.
Each French Quarter-note adds to the blue atmosphere sighs; blasting bass overtakes market square.

Thumping hopeless pitch shapes the community-laced sidewalks before waltzing boots.
A cheerless speedy laze spills from each timbre of the night.
His drumming sadness strikes the steps he graces with harmonious sounds
of his heartbreaking in disaster for public amusement like a clown.