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