Pearl’s Legacy
My world was filled with music.
Whites, a grey deck, harmonies and
the haunting tones of a French horn
joined with a crisp snap of a flag
unfurling to meet the morning sun.
Colors played.
Discordant drone.
Unharmonious hum.
Eyes raise and mind stands still.
Instruments drop like bombs
as awareness crashes in.
My duty station filled with blood.
Body parts stacked.
Tourniquets twisted.
Men screamed and died
crying for their mothers.
My world became filled with the sound of
explosions and endless cries of fear and pain.
I never played music again.
Forty-eight years passed and then was caught a glimpse
of seeds of my old self taking root again.
There was a voice and then a double bass.
A saxophone followed as the boy explored the orchestra.
He was on a quest to fine the instrument that would call his name.
A bassoon stood up and revealed the same haunting sound
expressed by the long ago lost French horn.
“Come play with me”, it said. His quest was finished.
Through junior high and high school and college,
phantom memory followed the boy into manhood.
Music filled their world and the phantom memory rejoiced.
Finally, it was music that followed him into that final sleep.
He rocked in the embrace of the music and as last light faded
HE filled the world with his own music again.
My duty station filled with blood.
Body parts stacked.
Tourniquets twisted.
Men screamed and died
crying for their mothers.
My world became filled with the sound of
explosions and endless cries of fear and pain.
I never played music again.
Forty-eight years passed and then was caught a glimpse
of seeds of my old self taking root again.
There was a voice and then a double bass.
A saxophone followed as the boy explored the orchestra.
He was on a quest to fine the instrument that would call his name.
A bassoon stood up and revealed the same haunting sound
expressed by the long ago lost French horn.
“Come play with me”, it said. His quest was finished.
Through junior high and high school and college,
phantom memory followed the boy into manhood.
Music filled their world and the phantom memory rejoiced.
Finally, it was music that followed him into that final sleep.
He rocked in the embrace of the music and as last light faded
HE filled the world with his own music again.
In honor of my father, Seaman/Musician Russell C. Bastian,
assigned to the USS Nevada, December 7th, 1941.
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