Saxophone

The Night the Sax Began to Play

At Martin’s place the lights were low,
The crowd was shining, drinks in flow.
Someone laughed, someone swore,
Shoes and rhythm on the floor.

The DJ ruled, the bass was loud,
The room was heat, a living cloud.
It all looked perfect from outside —
But hearts were dancing, not alive.

Someone whispered, “Hey, what’s that?”
In the corner — dust, and brass.
An old case, quiet, half-asleep,
Like secrets music chose to keep.

He reached and brushed away the grey,
The latch gave way, like time obeyed.
He took it slow, no word was said,
And all the noise fell still instead.

And the sax began to play —
Like the room could finally breathe.
Every note cut through the grey,
Every heart began to beat.
No spotlight, no control,
Just a sound that touched the soul.
And the world forgot to sway —
When the sax began to play.

The music turned from loud to real,
The air was warm, the walls could feel.
No one shouted, no one tried,
We were open, undenied.

Martin smiled — not at the show,
But at something deep below.
We all stood there, eyes the same,
Like children calling out a name.

And the sax began to play —
Like the room could finally breathe.
Every note cut through the grey,
Every heart began to beat.
No spotlight, no control,
Just a sound that touched the soul.
And the world forgot to sway —
When the sax began to play.

By morning, light was soft and pale,
The echoes lingered, thin as veil.
The party done, the people gone —
But something in that sound stayed on.

And if you listen late at night,
You’ll hear that breath beneath the light.
Not a word, but it can say —
How the sax began to play.