This is a poem that is based on the story Messin' with the Kid by Sora M. Jigen. Yes, she HAS given me premission to write and post the poem.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own the Blues Brothers, I just like to take them out to play.

In the middle of the night,

I sit on my cot, in a large room shared by many others,

Surrounded by all things familiar. As a storm rages

My small harp clenched in my hands. The cool metal worn smooth from use.

I look at it; it has an almost calming effect.

I close my eyes and blow.

The music that comes forth would not be called beautiful by most people.

But comes from the soul none-the-less.

Somewhere a record player is going, playing songs forgotten by time.

My fedora is smashed down on my head.

As any other child would clutch at a security blanket

And my dark glasses pushed up on the bridge of my nose.

Hiding my face, and thus my emotions, from the world.

I cannot sleep, turmoil overcomes my small body.

I run out of breath for playing, and rather sit on the floor and shake

As the rest of the children sleep

When I am on the verge of collapse, I go to the one place I am sure to find comfort

Next to mine is another bed, and the sleeping form is familiar

I pull myself to me feet and climb in next to him

My friend

My brother

My everything