The saxophone player

Your saxophone sounds like a melancholy angel speaking
right above the grey clouds
like the voice of a experienced adventurer
like a profound life lesson
like a beggar asking for rescue
like a preacher reading an
engaging book, like a mournful bird,
a soaring eagle
a lonely crow on the thin twig
a steady beating heart.
Like a homeless gypsy,
like the flash of the streetlight
like a old man with sliver beard,
an ancient treasure chest,
a family picture frame
like the magnificent sunset
like the glaring sun, gradually
descending down under the ocean surface
like the smooth lake
so tranquil,
like a delightful feast for the kings,
a towering tree rising up into the air,
a rusty car from the Victorian era,
like a scary pirate with a mouthful of yellow teeth
like a tyrant
like a slogan being chanted
like a desperate call,
a cup of bubbling beer,
like the sentimental singers releasing their anger,
like the shining gold, illuminating its holy light
like the sound that was left in my memory after I exited the auditorium,
inspired me with the phenomenal saxophone performance.