Concert at Trafalgar

At dawn
he began to play
with the ghosts
of Trafalgar

his chords
flew into the sky like flares
calling for a certain kind of man
and so they gathered

with creased brows
harsh, rugged faces…
they all knew the taste of a bullet
piercing through a brother

they listened for hours around the somber statue
& in the rare moments where he turned to look
he sometimes saw the inkling of a tear
egging him on

he wouldn’t forget these faces later
but in that moment he had to
shake sweat to song
two lungs near puncture
against the beating burden of his heart
hands bleeding through the strings
eyes glazing over
brow arched downwards
mouth tightening for the last riffs–

dead men
sculpt pain
of the scars
pretty enough to carve into stone.

the living
are afraid
of all the scars
they cannot remember.

the music
is all he has
to stop the stones and scars
falling into place.

---