A Note in the Music

A war torn soul in battered armor

asked to sit down to pastries and tea.

A crumb rolls off and onto the floor.

She grabs for her sword immediately.

The gentle music keeps playing,

but postured guests shift and stare.

The armor is loud in this room,

and everyone present seems very aware.

A war torn soul who doesn’t belong

gets up from the table and leaves.

A war is raging outside she warns,

but they keep on sipping like no one believes.

Her boots clink loudly

with each step towards the door.

She notices a table set off from the rest

that somehow she missed before.

The guests at this table never looked up,

despite her awkward presence and noise.

She hears their distant conversation,

and something’s familiar about that voice.

There is no echo as she sits down at the table,

no shifting or stares as she adjusts in her seat;

just a growing awareness of the discomfort

of the heavy boots still strapped on her feet.

The music still plays and the tea is warm,

but now it doesn’t seem so far away.

She notices a subtle scar here and there.

The warrior knows, and decides to stay.

At the far end of the table she hears a comment,

“We all have the war still raging inside”.

“Stay for the biscuits and enjoy the music,

here we have nothing to prove or hide”.

No one looked up expecting small talk,

the tea was warm, and candlelight glowed.

The armour started to feel so heavy,

as quiet conversation naturally flowed.

With time, the warrior laid down her sword

along with the memories of angst and doom.

The outsider that brought too much noise,

now a note in the music that settles the room.

©️2026 Cristen Writes