The hex of unwanted ***.
A curse never to publish a verse.
My songs uncomposed. & unrecorded. Undiscovered written talent unread.
Thousands undelivered & never said.
My manuscript hidden in a box under my bed.
Sometimes think through my head.
Putting words to music to produce.
Express a message of simple use.
Rap, hip hop, pop, country, or rock.
At concerts people huddle like a flock.
The doors & entranced are locked.
This a reason why I have never been to a concert & I never will.
It ain't that chill.
Herded like sheeps & lambs.
No parking only traffic jams.
Noise & screams reach the rooftops.
Elevates levels of hysteria.
Silence is something I now miss.
Calmness & tranquility no longer exists.