There is a concert you are playing,
your percussion, wind and string,
you command an attentive audience,
your orchestra is indeed accomplished,
and so indiscriminately exclusive,
that you play only to one that listens.
The low and steady time signature,
makes every note clear and unaccidental,
how is it you sound so familiar yet so new?
your orchestra is trully worthy of acclaim,
how effortless is the sound of your heart beat,
your percussion of choice.
In your musical arson lays your wind instrumental,
keeping to your specialty of resonance,
you carry off to distant places,
taking hostage, demanding only the ransom of an ear,
how calming, the sound of your breathing,
your wind instrument of choice.
Like any other orchestra you lack no crescendo,
though unlike any other,
it is your’s that haunts the heart and soul,
the tension is never stretched or pretentious,
that magical voice,
your string of choice.
AmarePoeta
Outside my mind 