The Blues
The blues you squeeze into your song.
Without the grays, you don’t belong.
The saxophone tonguing your grief;
Downward, the tears’ a scathing relief.
Turquoise battling the heavy waves.
The flautist, grave, somberly braves
The crashing shore of lighthouse lore.
Sudden widows - the sea keeps score.
The notes of navy grooves and plays
The composite of the ships ablaze.
Without the grays you don’t belong.
The blues you squeeze into your song.
The cobalt reed, a salty taste.
The blues strum strings around your waist.
The drums continuous throbbing;
Aperture of buoys sobbing.
Downward, the tears’ a scathing relief.
The saxophone tonguing your grief.
The blues you squeeze into your song.
Without the grays, you don’t belong.
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