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move me.

It's the music that makes me to cry the sound of notes flying makes me feel I could die.
It's the highest of highs down from the lowest of lows and when i close eyes shut tight i feel but don't know.
I want to ride high on the clouds soaring with the eighths crying on the quarters being held tight by the melody I couldn't touch if I tried.
And I want to melt in the sound becoming a puddle of vibrations springing off springs of that little wooden box laying on the black and white keys.
Passion.
The passion drives me crazy because I can't create the art in my soul like I feel that I should but my finger tips don't work like I tell them to.
It shoves me down to the ground of smoke and bodies on the floor faces pressed against the door begging to be let in to enjoy what lies beyond.
I tell you to hold me like I want the sound to hold me like I want the noise to surround me and I want to feel it.
In my bones under my skin.
I want to let it in.

Submitted: Thursday, July 12, 2012
Edited: Friday, July 13, 2012


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