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The Fire in Coltrane’s Lungs

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When the horn sounds the jazz begins
Unity rediscovered
A crisscross divergence of souls
Coltrane steals the birthright of his heritage makes it into music
The horn blasts loud and not so pure—
Life lives between the notes not at the end of the song
Painfully hidden tones magically appear dragged out one by one by one breathless gasps of tonal agony
Coltrane plays tears of subjugation between notes of joyous rhapsody
His horn speaks a thousand languages—
This axe falls in the wilderness—always heard
Coltrane's voice never silenced
Life loved but worn hard gritty sandpaper chokes back the beat children's faces disappear in the wind hardcore pavement clogs his shoes with destiny...
His horn blasts out elegy, sonnet and love song—
Coltrane works the tools of musical justice the fire in his lungs burning deep
This dragon's roar plays hot and cold running notes
Coltrane's solitary life form silhouettes a man playing his life like Jazz

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