There is an acoustic sound to this road I travel.
It has a domestic rhythm.
I step to its bubbly beat.
The tune is familiar and it calls to my heart.
My dreams are made by this sound.
I sway while the song is played.
I am compelled to step forward on my path.
My limbs move up and down with repetition.
I may desire to play those cords.
But, they are not of my composition.
Sometimes I fumble along in my craving to play.
I imagine I am part of that ensemble.
Perhaps, at my journeys end I may find a chorus.
It has a domestic rhythm.
I step to its bubbly beat.
The tune is familiar and it calls to my heart.
My dreams are made by this sound.
I sway while the song is played.
I am compelled to step forward on my path.
My limbs move up and down with repetition.
I may desire to play those cords.
But, they are not of my composition.
Sometimes I fumble along in my craving to play.
I imagine I am part of that ensemble.
Perhaps, at my journeys end I may find a chorus.
3 comments:
Can I applaud? I loved this poem. I hope your submitting these somewhere besides your blog.
Love you,
Mom
Oh, Amie -- what a masterful poem! It is compelling, poignant, and I so relate -- and your last line is the perfect finale.
I think this is my favorite so far!
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