Sad Trumpets

sad trumpets pronouncing
taking me to a place
i can only almost reach.
always wanting
my hand outstretched
empty
and the sad soft trumpets
echo
somewhere.
they call to me
full
and soon the sad trumpets
are gone.
they never were.
only the faded shadow
of a memory.

poem by Anna Moriarty Lev
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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