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.
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.
Simone Graves's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (move me. by Simone Graves )
Poem of the Day
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- A Case Of Murder, Vernon Scannell
- All the World's a Stage, William Shakespeare
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- When Spring Goes By, Duncan Campbell Scott
- (955) Poverty (Acros.., Melvina Germain
- Morning, Paul Laurence Dunbar
- Television, Roald Dahl
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
- Heather Burns
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Alfred Lord Tennyson
(6 August 1809 – 6 October 1892)