Inside the music, where the smoke has it’s own destination and the lights burn through your soul. Where the bass rocks your head and the drums make you whole, the beat rips through you and you lose control. Climb into it’s womb and call it mother, a feeling so deep it’s almost holy. It moves into your mind and pushes out anything else in the way it might find. But the music isn’t mine, it’s someone else who makes it. It permeates my core and penetrates my pit. And by the end of the night you’re left with hot ashes for dreams, or at least that’s the way it seems. Silence washes away the passion, and empties my whole to leave me a little less full, and life is impure again. charley
Reason for writing:
I wrote this poem while I was watching my brother's band. I date the drummer, and this was the first night that I had seen the band in a long time, and it was also the first time I got together with the drummer! It was just a great loud night.
c
Birth sign: Pisces
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