Writing

Somewhere in the summer sun, 

Where dandelions dance and sing 

Along with the bluebird’s lonesome cry, 

Alone, you’ll find me, lying there 

Between the grass seed and maple leaves, 

In a dew-drop, a little world exists 

A place turned blue and silver by the light 

That lingers well beyond the morning mist. 

In a dew-drop, a little world exists 

I feel the drumbeat.

I feel the pulse of the music,

Reverberating around my ears and brain,

Twisting into my heart.

I feel the bassline

With each hit of the sound

Pulsating your energy around you

Avaricious abundance, announcing

Blasphemous betrayals

Concertina cavorting cacophonous cadence

Depicting death-desired dread

Two days

Was all it took.

A day of rehearsals;

Discussing, analyzing, perfecting -

And then the day

We performed.

The day that changed everything.

I gave myself to the notes on the page,

Give me your tired, your poor, we say.

                            We will return them overworked and underpaid.