The boys has aged,
On the cusp of becoming a man,
Old enough to drive but not old enough to vote.
The child has improved in eight years,
The sound comes vibrant from the boy, Although it is still a hair twangy,
And the timing off just a bit.
He has passion,
Though,
Which makes the imperfections that much better.
The sound Echoes in on itself when it bounces off the cement walls,
And the closed wooden door of the garage.
All of the boy's work producing an emotional and raw sound,
Which flails about,
Enticing others to do the same.
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 9:13 PM UTC
The boys has aged,
On the cusp of becoming a man,
Old enough to drive but not old enough to vote.
The child has improved in eight years,
The sound comes vibrant from the boy, Although it is still a hair twangy,
And the timing off just a bit.
He has passion,
Though,
Which makes the imperfections that much better.
The sound Echoes in on itself when it bounces off the cement walls,
And the closed wooden door of the garage.
All of the boy's work producing an emotional and raw sound,
Which flails about,
Enticing others to do the same.
Request permission to use this poem