The rattling door as the wind whistles
the calls of the crows amongst the fields
shuffling feet that stirs the dirt
you can't imagine the power it yields
The grunts, the sighs from every mouth
the clicks, the clacks on the keyboard
the whine of a lonely pup
I've never heard that kind of cord
When the music dips and climbs
and we feel the pounding bass
as it stalls before the drop
then, we're locked
in a quiet place
Then waves in the air
and the quivering ground
are drowned to death
by shrieking sounds
But what you hear
comes nowhere near
to the Song of Thumps
that guides my world
So don't pretend you
feel the pounding floor
the way that I do
for my partially deaf brother who can hear most of what's in front of him, and little behind. who likes to stand right beside speakers in concerts because the pounding is his favourite part
