You listen to the radio,
and hear your favorite song.
You start to sing along.
Thinking of all the people
who were deaf but still could hear,
the sound their music makes.
Rhythms with your pencils,
or hums inside your head,
makes no difference when you're dead.
The only thing people remember
is the music that you made
and what you made out of you music.
(this is the best poem i've ever written so dont say anything mean)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment