la musique

Saxophone, trumpet, drums....the 'Sombah'
The beat....builds and builds...sticks enclosing in their diameters on flat steel
The curtains are blown, with the minds of musicians, the souls of listeners
tap...their...feet..to...the...beat
spinning...smiling...clapping...rocking...enclosing....
Picture perfect
and memorable

Trumpets sound their rhythms, i kicked some bags.... grinning
as they switched... from classical to jazz
my thoughts are aloft competing with other 'soar climbers'
Piano....oooh.....my skirt spun in swing of rising excitement

Fingers, masculine...collage?.. the nape of my neck then travelled to meet with ripple nerves slithering, too, to the base of my torso
the moment's aglow, two...smothered in gusto
no clue....only spontaneous
the rhythm contain us, INSANE US, sweeping duss'
off the floor then the roof

The tempo rises to a sudden stop!......silence ........................................................
with it went my flare...mental flare...moment's fanfare
My shoes swayed with my knees, then shoulders...
puppeted, only, by memory
my eyes...communicated inexplicably!

I grinned, leaning my forehead on a familiar shoulder
now calm, in synchrony, truth ?...a monopoly

For after all, the world was 'forsaken' the music had taken....us
through a moment's..... dance......

RAGE

Pungent now, staining and infecting all surrounding
An entity of unresolved hate, unquenched thirst, and fire inextinguishable

Influenced but rejects for selfish gains
a 'fixation' subtle within a character that overshadows
not even mammary hands can mould it
she screams to compound, she pushes to bully, she withers at the mere release
of TRUTH

The truth hurts
"blood' flows and heats to meet with an irrational heart
sobbing to generate empathy
sobbing to attract mercy
and to its fortune, disembodied hearts melted and fed

These hearts, though relentless to past happenings , bears the fury of the repeated, the overly endulged, the bulge of discomfort, the 'lump' of a product selfish and pompous

my 'judgement' may be draconian
my palms moist of the 'unspoken'
my thoughts perhaps connected to the undisturbed, unbroken bloodline
but my intentions are contrary and passive-aggressive

until i'm weary, this shall it be !!
until i'm weary, this shall it be!!