MicMag 3d
A collision!
Everyone frantic
All worried about

The people
     Are they ok?

          The damages
               How much to fix that?

                    The traffic
                         How long is this gonna hold me up?

But maybe...

   C  ould we all just stop for a minute and
   R  ecalibrate our priorities to truly
   A  ppreciate the incredible variety of
   S  ounds joining together in perfect
   H  armony as the cars smash into one another?

Go ahead
Call me calloused
But listen:

Squeal Screech Honk Bam Boom Smash Bang Clank
Wham Crack Thwack Rattle Whoosh Hiss Gasp

But mostly
That unmistakable
Hauntingly mellifluous

Angie 6h
You seek for music that is truly art,
For sounds to heal the wounded heart…
No song can help... and you are in despair!
Salvation’s close, the answer’s fair!
You seek for music that is truly art.
Admire sounds that flow straight to your heart!

Just listen to the sounds of nature in awakening,
The cracks of ice that’s finally breaking,
The howling wind, the beat of falling rain,
The singing bird – encaged, insane,
The cry of storms, wild nature’s rage…
The sounds surround us, mystical and sage.
First cry of newborns like welcoming hymns
How deep and touching baby’s crying seems!

In chords and rhythms like in a cobweb’s cover
We may describe someone’s intensive glower,
The flight of souls, the deepest inspiration,
The purest love and sweet temptation,
The depth of sorrow, oceans of despair
When those we love for us no longer care,
The traitor’s fear and darkness of the fall,
The bright achievement and the Hatred’s cold…
The shy first kiss, the smoldering passion …
The music shows each of impressions!

The flow of music coming from around
Breaks walls of enmity with every sound.
I like to listen to its every part...
Cause this is music, which is heard by heart!
It saves me daily from my grief and strife,
Cause this is music, music of my life!
Alyson Lie Oct 2015
Sometimes you can see in the faded
tapestry shapes and scenes that move
from foreground to background and
background to foreground.

Other times you only see the tattered
granularity of the weave and nothing else.

Is it the ocean that sounds
like traffic or the traffic that
sounds like the ocean?

As you ponder this question,
what you are holding slips
from your fingers and your mood
stabilizing regimen scatters
across the dusty floor.
toukakouka Sep 2015
his stomach swelled, while his breath sped
from his mouth, sounds like city transport
freight train lungs
and mirror's weight,
and worth in love
body, decrepit
his eyes dilated under pale hospital light
his lungs, burning
lay stale and frigid; a hospital bed's height.
"we began wanting to be embraced
became unable to walk alone"
Walking and saying
Things our wellbeing
The soul needing love possessions
Have absolutely no meaning

Playing and praying
Overstaying and Under-paying
Rising sun and Symphonic searching

" Is this the way it is?" Tis the season

But the tightness no business like
searching business
  She is combined and mixed like a song
fully lined both with keynotes somehow
we declined
The feeling that you cannot breathe
or  trust both of us
 we can  bearly suck it all in
My music playing just click my belt buckle
Will start to begin

The soul is not a crime or just a rhyme
I barely cannot breathe
I am in a chuckle, you see his
smile raising up his dimple

Ms. Thumbelina cobblestone
narrow-minded street your
in the tightrope symphonic beat

But its dark outside your ringlets
Waved him on got excitedly mesmerized
His Goblet of wine she curls up in
his body heat brilliantly dazzled
The sky to your dreams he is
reaching your
soft side skin
whats actually within
our souls

So  hooked into your ride not to slide
better grades and goals
The awesomeness symphonic hatter
Victorian divineness
Her paper cut out hearts as real
as they come
The Eastside Symphonic tip of his
Heavenly Bliss private Quarters
What becomes of the broken hearted
Heads or dimes not landing on her stone
Floor heart
The Duke of all trades of the hat he's smart

Cool running erotic
Addictions to the mind so fanatic
What a good soul sometimes
He overexaggerates about
love and fate darkness drives him demonic
What are you kidding me
She doesn't rest her heart on his
soul for the burning desires of food
for thought
She keeps piling his poems like any sport
He's her everything she learns to be taught

Searching lips pricing
Red bloodshot eyes of crying onions
She is so fierce controlling
Musically like a Tiger roaring
He is like a design of graphics tattoo
The earring piecing the sweetest taboo

More soul searching
She's the snake purse
to his snake eyes fancy,
he took a ride
Upper-false teeth
The upper west side
have some prideThe dark side
became her thing
The wildflower not to stand to
bloom and bang like her band

Westside sounds came deep
his pride and joy like a parade
and wickedly dark his charade

It was  sneaking up on her backside
And the other side was just hiding
and smiling
She definitely saw the light lamp post how
the smells came stronger the darkness of desire
she was famished not to have vanished

Feeling like a pot roast love continued
She had a gift for her lover, not the
toast who would brag to boost
Two Bloody British what
divine glasses at a cost
The symphonic soul
captured them like the
Dark-Knight of words
Symphonic sounds came
hearing names
soulful hummingbirds buzz-net

And there weren't any more
words there was silence
Eating shepherds pie table was set

Taking over another soul that's a lie
just like magic searching for a love
so long ago became tragic
You need more perseverance
Her true love gave her
an incredible sixth sense
of deliverance
The top seat at the concert
classical wicked taste of music
candescent erotically sonic

She had this certain quality
He was a symphonic love bounty
Her lips moved so fitting fantastically
The flower shops caught her eye
She couldn't sense what was real or a lie
The fast pace of the people all worked up.
What a soulful smell music sounds
she faintly known

To her ear wanted to hear only him shown

Besides the faintly illuminated
shapes evergreens were
heartily trimmed
She stood out bright as the ground
She was turning gray losing reality
not to be found or heard
So soulful her lips speak
she was walking with her head up
in the air fancy dancey
How those men could speak.
You could smell all the ethnic
flavors of foods
She felt the search for something
of a Saint, she was trying to
hard to be good
What a Haydn, his wife
was the mad hair driving

Miss Daisy soul of hers crazy curled
inside her book
She's the lady-like curler
How he played through her hair
Hunchback of Notre Dame who was to blame?
How his eyes wondered playing
and observing
But she was holding his stare

like a womanizer and his eyes flew
what a haunting moon
But Samatha the harp shady tree
He said, my fair lady,
He's stringing something together

What! creepypasta but sometimes her powers were weak
The symphonic love potent every other week

Some Gothic man symphonic music started
Playing Rossini Opera he could stand on his head.
She was pinned to his eyes
Pinterest such interest
she was all bloomed like a fly

By witches, flower came he passed her and he knew exactly who she was as is but wait not his?
The pleading the beg humbug far from her tunes of the ladybug

Razzamatazz all body of Jazz jitterbug
He winked she-devil
summoned him on
What a binding spell
She wiped the sweat off her face
She was beautiful with pale
porcelain skin
So alluring walking
with her parasol
This is my darkness of a read I hope you enjoy flowers even if they perk you up if they are the darkness stay alive to bloom there will always be a flower like you
be sure your sin will find you out.
Place your ear to the ground.
Listen out for shrieking sounds.

                    ­       Mould a tinfoil helmet
                             and a bomb shelter made from leaves.
                                   Watch the sky for stars with teeth.
Next page