I hear your music
from upstairs play
  in my mind.
My fingertips
brush against the cracks
  as I breathe a sigh
  of relief when the light
streams from my window
I imagine
the strings of a guitar
from downstairs
   on my kitchen floor
wondering how
I got this far.
Life's never been
kind
towards creative states
  of minds
but when I think
I've given up the chase
  I hear humming from
Upstairs,
and beating on a drum
if you took my pulse
  you'd feel my rapid
pulse against your thumb.
  Call me foolish
but I know what I love
and I won't be defeated
by the skeptical sum
  since downstairs
They don't hear what I do
or see the beauty of the rain
  Spilling music on our roof.
So, when I despair
  I listen for a sound from
   upstairs
   to inspire me
  to neve give up.