"muffles" poems
All around me, I see endless fear.
Fear of heights, sure, fear of scuttling things
Fear of darkness, fear of bites
Fear of brightness, fear of fights.
This is the fear we can display
Because it’s little, simple, understandable.
But the fear I really fear
That we all let consume us
Is deeper,
Darker,
Cold.
It’s the fear of friendship, fear of love,
Fear of what’s ahead of us
But even more of what’s behind us
Fear to see what’s really beyond
The faces we all fake.
Fear of the unknowable
Fear of what we know
Fear of speaking out or up or for
Fear of conforming to something more
Fear to test the limits
Fear to taste the truth
Fear of what’s uncomfortable
Rather than the deception of comfort
Fear of what to do
Fear of striving for perfection
When perfection’s so unattainable.
Fear of to leave what has been known
Fear of what has been done
Fear to see past fabrication,
Fear to show the truth.
I’m talking fear of emotion
Or fear of not feeling enough
Fear of silence, but worse,
The fear of candid words.
Fear to look someone in the eye
And say, “I know you,
And I care for you.”
Fear to let someone see the darkness that comes with your light
Fear of rebelling though it’s time someone did
Fear of doing what you want and know
Because of what someone told you you should
Fear of being who you are
Because every day everyone is telling you
What to do and who to be
And what is acceptable
And what is not.
I’m talking fear of having an opinion
Because someone will shoot it down
Fear of defense or service or selflessness
Because someone won’t approve.
Fear to accept because of fear of acceptance
Fear to truly love someone
Because it’s risky,
And you never know
What someone else really feels.
I cry for the fear of
Every person who can’t be
Who they are and who can’t
Let people see them in their entirety
Because after all everyone urges
And persuades and demands and values
And idolizes and expects,
You don’t even know yourself,
Because you've been too busy
With trying to be so many different
“Someone Else"s.
I ache for this relentless fear.
I mourn the stagnancy of the condition
Of the human soul who is so afraid
To let go of fear
And BE somebody,
To do something or say something, or simply believe,
That the only thing they truly trust
Is the familiarity
Of fear itself.
That’s why fear is frightening
That’s why we should be afraid of fear
Because it stops us, cages us,
Bars us behind the façade we display
And muffles the words of our heart.
I see these things and wonder
Why can’t they change?
Why can’t this need to fear be erased
From the human condition?
And I realize it’s because everyone
Is afraid.
And I’m so afraid too.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC
Lady, your room is lousy with flowers.
When you kick me out, that's what I'll remember,
Me, sitting here bored as a loepard
In your jungle of wine-bottle lamps,
Velvet pillows the color of blood pudding
And the white china flying fish from Italy.
I forget you, hearing the cut flowers
Sipping their liquids from assorted pots,
Pitchers and Coronation goblets
Like Monday drunkards. The milky berries
Bow down, a local constellation,
Toward their admirers in the tabletop:
Mobs of eyeballs looking up.
Are those petals of leaves you've paried with them ---
Those green-striped ovals of silver tissue?
The red geraniums I know.
Friends, friends. They stink of armpits
And the invovled maladies of autumn,
Musky as a lovebed the morning after.
My nostrils prickle with nostalgia.
Henna hags:cloth of your cloth.
They tow old water thick as fog.
The roses in the Toby jug
Gave up the ghost last night. High time.
Their yellow corsets were ready to split.
You snored, and I heard the petals unlatch,
Tapping and ticking like nervous fingers.
You should have junked them before they died.
Daybreak discovered the bureau lid
Littered with Chinese hands. Now I'm stared at
By chrysanthemums the size
Of Holofernes' head, dipped in the same
Magenta as this fubsy sofa.
In the mirror their doubles back them up.
Listen: your tenant mice
Are rattling the ******* packets. Fine flour
Muffles their bird feet: they whistle for joy.
And you doze on, nose to the wall.
This mizzle fits me like a sad jacket.
How did we make it up to your attic?
You handed me gin in a glass bud vase.
We slept like stones. Lady, what am I doing
With a lung full of dust and a tongue of wood,
Knee-deep in the cold swamped by flowers?
14.7k
[Rain]
that falls motionless in waking dawn.
muffles the sadness within our souls.
mutes the voices within our heads.
holds us close when we're all alone.
that saves my drowning soul.
will help me grow...
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 11:01 AM UTC
neon lights
illuminate the night’s
heavy clouds
while rain muffles
the constant urban humming
pierced by distant sirens
moving slowly
through concrete canyons.
Dec 9, 2019
Dec 9, 2019 at 9:54 AM UTC
Perhaps I'm encased in a box
made out of two-way glass.
A biased one-way mirror...
Mutual vision doesn't meet nor pass.
When you look at me,
you only see,
yourself for all that you care...
Me? Just a faint suggestion that I'm even there.
Maybe that's why...
you ask about my life,
about my strife.
When I'm about to unload my
head,
I end up having to hear about yours
instead.
Perhaps at times I travel around
in a bubble of frosted glass.
Only a blurred version of me...
Clumsily ploughing through the mass.
Incoherent, misunderstood and unclear.
Unintelligible muffles of hopes and fear.
Maybe that's why...
My words are just perceived as
playful rhymes.
Never keeping up with the times.
Words regurgitated but no one
realises what's coming undone...
Perhaps what I need
is an armour of bulletproof glass.
One of unique quality...
One ahead of its class.
You can do and say what you want.
A shell that would bear most of the brunt.
*I'll be impervious.
I'll be protected.
I can be indifferent.
I can be jaded.*
Maybe that's all I need...
*A shocking stunt.
A fresh perspective.
A new plan.
Revised objectives.*
Maybe a different name to start all
over...
To tie the binds and thoughts that
scatter...
Hoping of holding everything
together...
Come morning, all will be
forgotten...
Maybe I'd still be beaten.
So for a chance that's,
fat as hell
or
thin just a sliver...
Truth is of the three, I have neither...
So...
what I've said doesn't really matter.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
I thank the Lord above
For all the times
That I fell in love
And I thank the one below
For the pain
That I have come to know
I know it so well
Through the scars
From all the times I fell
They’re the reason why
I’m an empty shell
They have shattered my hopes
And destroyed my dreams
But it’s the love I have
That muffles my screams
I have more love than pain
Or so it seems
Until I’m crushed with this burden
And I come apart at the seems
But my soul burns bright
No one can dim it
But this girl just pushes me
Everyday to my limit
She drives me crazy
Completely insane
And for a minute I feel nothing
Not even the pain
But once control I regain
It becomes all too familiar
I wonder if it’s worth this
And is it my fault
Did I birth this?
Did I terminate this bliss?
Did I do something wrong?
If I did
Why has this been going on so long?
If this isn’t feeding off love
Then what’s it running on?
My brain twisting and turning
With different notions
My heart flaming and burning
With different emotions
I struggle to tell you
That life isn’t fair
And that about you
I never did care
You try to look into my mind
Knowing not the conflict
That rages on in there
The Devil pushes
God pulls so I get no where
Whether I should walk away
Or sit and stay
Is a battle between my heart and my brain
That I think never ends
I just hope when it stops
The right one wins
Jun 13, 2010
Jun 13, 2010 at 7:17 PM UTC
Ripples running away from me
disturbing the cool water around.
My splash is heard by the trees and the birds
But by none who can offer help.
At first I panic, thrash madly,
as a thrush flutters on the breeze.
More waves are caused by the actions
But still I flap and scream.
Not a soul can hear me;
the woods are a wilderness, deserted.
Everything hidden by the low dense cloud,
It stops my sight short and muffles my voice.
So I wait drifting with the current
no longer reaching for a hold,
Confident I’ll be found and saved
Dried out and sent home happy.
The minutes soon become hours though
and still there is no help.
I give up counting depressing time.
I don’t want to know how long.
My skin starts to wrinkle with wetness
like a dried fruit in a plastic bag;
My nails soften in the water
But still trap **** and other life.
My faith in human nature
starts to fade and recede.
I try calling out once more
A strange fear forcing the action
I now grab, frantic, at anything in reach
Losing what little strength's left
And the weight of the water in my clothes
And body is dragging me down.
Finally I realise what’s happening to me
is I am sinking, drowning - and fast.
I am dying and there is nothing
I can do myself to stop it.
Inevitable, unpreventable death that I
now accept as being my destiny,
I close my eyes and try to help
By thinking heavy thoughts.
Running over in my head all the reasons
why it may be better this way -
As death is certain this is academic
But strangely seems to help.
If one can find the good in Death
it’s not so unattractive.
I no longer worry, I am resigned
It is my choice to die.
So I just lie back and wait for
embrace even my forthcoming Death
And then I hear a sound prayed for weeks ago
But dreaded and hated as I am now
Footsteps coming towards me that I try to ignore
(and ignore their voices too)
And a hand reaches for me, grasps mine
They think I should be happy to be saved
But they cannot see I don’t want to be saved
from the Death I was so close to and wanted.
I welcomed it, I willed it, to
Come and release me from the pain
Now I am safe I must endure once more
the suffering, and accept Death again.
So here I am alive and well
Trapped in the prison of life.
Aug 24, 2011
Aug 24, 2011 at 6:31 AM UTC
I have locked myself inside of my car in the middle of the school parking lot.
I can still hear the ringing of the bell that caused us to scatter out of the school like ants escaping from a disrupted colony ringing in my ears. I am no longer a fire ant, but a caged animal, and I’m not sure who the metal barrier around me is supposed to be protecting. I still don’t feel safe.
I am thinking about how the glass at the zoos muffles the sounds of the animals, and how you might miss their cries unless you stopped walking and got right next to the glass. I don’t want to be seen, but, at the same time, I am hoping and waiting for people to stop walking past me, stand next to my car, and listen.
I am laying down in my back seat like a wounded animal, and my screams are being muffled by me burying my face into the seat. I no longer feel like a caged animal, but a fish inside of a tank. I don’t know how long I have been crying, but I feel like I am drowning. You can’t hear noises in the water unless you are below the surface yourself. I feel like I am the exhibit in the aquarium that everyone ignores because whatever’s in the water is hiding under a rock.
My head feels as though it will explode, I can’t breathe, everything is blurry, my chest hurts, I can’t stop crying, and I have convinced myself that I am dying. When my cousin was three, he would have died if my dad had not performed cpr on his blue, limp little body after he was pulled out of the pool. Now, he is eleven, and he knows how to swim, but I don’t have the heart to tell him that you don’t need water to drown.
Now, I am wishing that I had been the one that drowned that day.
I am sitting in a fish tank, I have no gills and I can not breathe.
My screams are silent, nobody can hear me, and I am kicking the inside of the car to try and make some noise, but everyone has gone home by now.
I am able to breathe again and I have grown a pair of lungs.
I am sitting in a zoo after closing hours, and all I can do is practice my roar and try to be heard again in the morning.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 8:04 PM UTC
Inside the bunny suit
my ears are still small
and round, and percussive
sounds come to visit me
costumed in white muffles.
Inside the bunny suit
a bead of sweat itches
my nose to rabbit fidget
and wiggle-twitch where
my fingers can’t reach it.
Inside the bunny suit
a thin layer of nylon dots
inserts its silky self
between me and everything
I fumble to touch.
Inside the bunny suit
the outside world’s broken
up by a half-dozen holes,
and green strands fuzz the focus
of each fragmented peep.
Inside the bunny suit
probing orange lights
make kaleidoscope shapes
through those same cut
openings. They distract me.
Inside the bunny suit
I can smile at and feel
closer to the fantastic
creatures who surround me
in their own decorous skins.
Dec 18, 2010
Dec 18, 2010 at 6:17 AM UTC
I never cry in front of people anymore.
But when I did it was sonorous and wailing
clinging for support, gasping for more air.
And after the storm had passed and the sea was bright
there was nothing but the quiet and the joy.
I'd drained the worst in to a handkerchief and dumped it
in the bin.
Now, years have passed and life has taught me
one too many tales.
I now know to weep softly, softly in despair
as the scalding water of the shower hides
tears and muffles sounds.
Because those I thought cared lied and went away.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 9:19 PM UTC
I know why he laughs
everyday, every single day.
Telephone poles line the streets,
a young man giving message to loved ones
reminding them of his travels south,
to stay, to visit,
birds fly through air
upon hearing gunshots in alleyways
escaping to freedom, to cold winds,
away from dark figures in the night.
The postman drops off mail by foot,
in the golden flap-slot
at 312 Baker Street,
while waving hello to the little boy in the window,
the one who will surely die
suddenly
at the age of 20,
driving drunk, open casket,
bloated face. Mother blotchy from tears
and stress
for eyes that will never see another day.
I know why he laughs
day after day after day.
The ribbons tied around presents under a tree,
lights infiltrating closed eyelids
giving off colors never seen before,
never to be seen
friends, family, arms interlocked
whispering thanks, warm nothings
with nothing to be seen,
except deals behind closed doors
an uncle over a nephew,
unheard tears and gasping for breath
lost behind muffles of laughter and shouts of play,
just play.
I know why he laughs
all day, it never ends.
The work, the money, the vacations
the form of form itself,
the fact that form is, and that one
abides by it,
can even touch it, poke it,
poke fun at it, and yet live by it,
live their lives by it without question
whether it be above or under
grounds so cold, full of bodies,
bodies no more, just run-down homes.
Paint peeling and insects swarming,
devouring all that was, bringing life anew
for their comrades, rocks crumble
tears of granite, marble,
not tears,
just erosion of the face.
I know why he laughs
every single ******* day,
because with time like this,
times like these,
and everything in existence,
beauty is an open eyelid.
There’s no room for crying,
none will hear it.
Heads without ears,
and eyes
without lights.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 3:21 AM UTC
*Ragged cliffs loom o'er the shore-
as waves punish the rocks below -
"Deafening",
is their roar*..........
*A fleece, a blanket, of mist...and fog,
muffles the 'pleas'
From the 'sailing ships'.....
moored in the salty seas*
*Out from the mist...
alone.........she comes-
"A battle waits.... to be won"
says this maiden.....from Avalon*
*With arms outspread--
and opened palms.......
She 'chants'...for the sea to lie "still.... and calm"...
says the maiden.......from Avalon*
"*Oh God of Nature....of all men -
I beseech thee..........
To shield these men of gallantry".....
'Chants'...the maiden from Avalon*
*As she speaks.....
the waves subside.....silent, is their roar
The solar orb....no longer hides....
As the brave doth come ashore*.
*Is it magic, myth, or simply......lore?
perhaps, a tale not told before-
But....... when all was said, and done......
"Blessed be the maiden"*.....
"From Avalon"
r.riddle- 10-29-2016
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 7:42 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, some memories haunt us to the grave---they never fade:|
I put the space
mere a distance
and air to redeem
for the desk to choke the
fogging steam
heavy unspoken glares of things untold a gleam
nears and approaches some spites that repeat
if walls at least could shout could scream
lines would be spit to the ultimate some tense perched
meant on bits of merged
known subtles
left on the bottles
shaped from knuckles
inherited not chuckles
reds on the addicting muffles
------ravenfeels
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 7:20 PM UTC
Warming up like an electric orchestra,
the sound of your dad’s band practice seeped
through the vents from the basement.
Drums vibrated from the floor into my feet,
And we tapped our toes together,
thump thump thump.
Drowning out the 80’s punk, your mom
plays polka in the kitchen, making pasta. I stand
over the sauce stained stove watching the *** of water
sizzle to accordion cries and the idea of clogs. We sway
from side to side. Your hands hang off my hips.
Retreating, back to your blue room, we wait
for the wafting smells of garlic, grilled onions and
peppers to call us for dinner. You pull out your
keyboard, a pen, a pad. Pressing buttons, I hear
synthesizers and song samples through your
headphones. We smile, bobbing our heads in sync,
Bump, bump, bump.
~
Finding myself in a foreign living room,
I am alone. The TV is on mute and a “motivational”
speech muffles through his speakers. There are no
basement bands. No pasta, no polka, or clogs and cries.
Only sounds of silence. I press my feet against the floor.
I can’t hear the bumps, I can’t feel the thumps
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 2:18 PM UTC
Little Sapling
sitting upright in the
Big Arm Chair
calm classical music
muffles the sedated voices
behind each door.
You sit
upright, improperly left alone
to fill such a Large Arm Chair.
You turn
your young face to the side,
staring with large eyes at
the toys adorning
The Corner Table.
The toys which you
once would have played with,
been engrossed with,
a few Long Sunny Days ago.
Yet today your innocent eyes merely
dabble with the sight of them;
the sight of a Long Sunny Day
which was once yours
to behold.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 1:24 PM UTC
embraced within your own shabby clothes
drink the fireplace in and out through your nose
cross-eyed women eat a lot of chicken
while symbiotic brothers deny
that they blindly love their father's ghosts
and you are sordid like a cat
now i'm glad we got that sorted out
give an ounce of fat and you’ll get a pound of muscle
students take tests in bottomless basements
and are trained to use sandpaper for dusting
some of whom immediately fail examination
solely because their faces are too **** stubbly (ugly)
i shudder at the thought of stopping in the middle
so remove the dissonant fiddle and sit indian style
as riddles are permutations of words
that are sometimes thousands of years old
and gone are the shovels that we use to dig up our souls
your headaches are baked like pound-cakes in the dirt
indecent muffles were heard thirty miles west of earth
hesitate and you’ll die, so rise up and learn to fly
undress the legacy that keeps you chained to lies
this fire is hot and so is your disguise
strategies are as strange as fiction
and i deflect your indecisive missiles
with perfect vision crystallized
and then compounded like coal into diamonds
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 2:19 PM UTC
You search for the answer
Of your survival
All you find is old dust
On the books
Across the fields
Through a pile of sand
Hunched behind the wheat
A girl
And her grills
You talk to her in muffles
Standing on her truffles
And she scowels
An owl watches
Truth hidden behind his eyes
He wants to tell you
But you won't listen
He's just a bird
A caress over your brow
Sends you into sleep
Where you search for answers
But only find images
Friends; Cameras; Buttons; Relaxation
Planets; Mantarays; Bottles; and Scabs
What do they mean?
Questions fill your meat
As your feet lift into the air
And you become a hero.
May 5, 2010
May 5, 2010 at 4:49 PM UTC
When I was eight years old I told my mom I’d play in the NBA.
And she believed me.
A year later, I was nearly dead.
A quick cough in January caged my lungs with such force
I could almost hear them fighting for breathing room.
I don’t remember much.
All that comes to mind is the panic
Like an animal that lives inside your skin,
That only awakens when he is least needed.
I came to with my mind split in half.
In reality I was on a stretcher, in a hospital.
In my mind, I was chained to a sheet of wood.
Floating in a pool.
Spread out like the vitruvian man.
I watched the water run through my fingers.
On second glance, I was not alone at the pool.
Men in all black stood around the edges
Staring like henchman do at helpless prey.
On third glance, I am in a stadium filled with cheering fans.
I could never really tell who they were cheering for.
One of the men shouts out, and I am drowning.
A godlike force pushes through the chain and I am engulfed.
No breath.
No sound.
Just blue and black
And the muffles of panic.
Only interrupted by a brief resurface
And the roar of an audience
Followed by blue and black.
My mind began to converge,
And two worlds became one again.
As the water around me turned to tile,
My hands still felt wet from the pool.
The nurse asked me why I kept screaming to get out of the water.
I never learned how to swim.
I never played in the NBA.
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 12:13 AM UTC
from October, 2016
Ragged cliffs loom o'er the shore-
as waves punish the rocks below -
"Deafening",
is their roar..........
A fleece, a blanket, of mist...and fog,
muffles the 'pleas'
From the 'sailing ships'.....
moored in the salty seas
*Out from the mist...
alone.........she comes-
"A battle waits.... to be won"
says this maiden.....from Avalon*
With arms outspread--
and opened palms.......
She 'chants'...for the sea to lie "still.... and calm"...
says the maiden.......from Avalon
*"Oh God of Nature....of all men -
I beseech thee..........
To shield these men of gallantry".....
'Chants'...the maiden from Avalon*
As she speaks.....
the waves subside.....silent, is their roar
The solar orb....no longer hides....
As the brave doth come ashore.
Is it magic, myth, or simply......lore?
perhaps, a tale not told before-
But....... when all was said, and done......
"Blessed be the maiden".....
"From Avalon"
r.riddle- 10-29-2016
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 4:08 AM UTC
When my body can't take it anymore
I go into the closet- not to pray, but to worship;
I kiss the complacent coat hangers there, orderly on their metallic racks,
My lips on smooth plastic; eyes closed,
All senses centered on my mouth;
Enraptured, I can't see any colors at all..
The surface doesn't soften, as I beat out my lips
Against the mild anvil; altar of pain, loving the more distant you
Somewhere on a compass that the heart knows best;
This pain is merely a devotional exercise, to take my mind
Off the fact that the hangers can't actually kiss me back.
The wool blazer has your blue eyes;
The polo shirt has some, not all, of your softness.
The shoes delicately waft a heavy, calming manly odor of leather.
The weight of the clothing leans back against me, sighing
And muffles most of my cries and exclamations
While I sway, to their soapy limerance of fabric softener and dust.
If I push far enough into them, they enclose me all around
Just like a lover's firm grasp, of aching seams and straining stitches,
Loving me soundlessly, from many directions at once.
To silent, undanced waltzes, we hang together, in furtive salute;
For they are not free, and neither am I;
But we can dream together, in the small cottony, worsted room,
For we are old friends, we have known both sunshine and rainshower together
And long, undying afternoons, of tears and questioning why.
They have known many of my beloved's names,
And I in turn have seen them both inside and out, plush and threadbare.
We have no secrets any longer; I know their every scar by heart
As well as they know mine:
I can never discard even one of their kind,
I have to keep them closer than skin.
Mar 20, 2010
Mar 20, 2010 at 8:14 AM UTC
I can't escape these tears,
that shine when they fall.
I can't escape these fears,
in a shadow so tall.
I've cried so long,
only muffles seep out.
I've cried on and on,
full of eternal doubt.
I'll continue to weep,
'til the pain goes away.
I'll continue to cut deep,
'til my veins give way.
My tears are like,
never ending curls.
Precious and white,
tears of pearls.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 9:42 PM UTC
If it were my choice,
I'd drag you so deep
Pull you into the water,
Watching you fall off your feet
You'd stumble a bit,
Can't catch your breath if you tried
Seeing you there,
As the water muffles your cries
The fear in your heart,
Whispers through your lips
With each gasping breath,
I'll just let you slip
For the love you've shown me,
Has done nothing more
Than sink my beating heart,
To the deepest oceans floor
Alysia Marie 2015 ©
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
she tells me how my touch is deft -
scribes lightly through the morning haze
pedestrian within the fog
traversing nights transpire days
your shouting shatters solitude
it brings me back mortality
ethereal my thoughts to write
these poems' eventuality
a heartbeat muffles crackling lungs
while veins write words upon the breath
and what great privilege given to
the last ones spoken till your death
you find me speaking lyrics to
the harmonies I find in you
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 1:40 AM UTC
Unhappiness hangs like a wet, heavy fog
Coating any random happiness with salty tears.
It hovers just above the ground
Snuffing every little hopefulness that glows.
Unhappiness is as silent as a winter’s dawn
That muffles all the birdsong
And the wake-up call of crickets,
And turns the beating heart into a drum.
Unhappiness is as painful as a
Finger slammed shut in a car door,
Where no blood streams out
But turns to purple underneath the skin.
Unhappiness is insidious;
Growing in the half light of depression
Like mushrooms in a lonely cave
That one really knows is there.
Unhappiness is as heavy as a cross
Laid across the shoulders of your heart
As you struggle up the endless hill
That suddenly appears before you.
Unhappiness is a dozen little ills
That mock your efforts to be healthy,
That burrow like a worm into an apple
And curtail the slightest possibility of joy.
Unhappiness is my middle name.
ljm
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 8:27 AM UTC
Click clack click
We left the comfort of the amethyst curtain
Onto the stained wooden stage
The room is wide and filled with echoes
I stare into the red seats where identical faces sit
They show no emotion and I want them to feel
Feel anger, joy, sadness, something
My instructor paces across the stage towards the microphone
Hello
Suddenly the words that were to follow turn into muffles
All I can hear is my heart beat
They sound like quarter notes
The muffles end once my instructor is back in my sight
He exhales and smiles
The burning lights make him look like a god
He raises the baton and I forget everything
1...2...3...
We play the keys robotically but we breathe humanity
The notes trace our fingers and play your heart strings
Our slurs curve your lips into a smile
We want you to feel joy
We want you to remember childhood memories
It's not just kids with instruments
There are stories being told
We put our life into the instruments
We remember being called fools
And how we were wasting our time
We tell you our stories through these notes
Hoping you will feel what we felt
But we'll never know until the final note
When the baton goes down and we bow to the crowd
It's exhilarating
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 2:35 PM UTC