Musicbox
So much to write,
So little time to do it!
I scratch away, and hum.
It's my drumbeat, the pen on the paper.
A snare, if you will.
So much to say,
So little speaking room!
I raise my voice above the din, and shout.
It's my vocals, my tiny voice in the loudloud room
My Grammy performance.
So much to do,
And so few people to do things with!
When I'm alone I make it up.
Scratch it into the page with my snare,
Scream it with my vocals.
So much to dream about,
So little time to accomplish it all!
My hopes become my guitar.
Constant hard and fast or,
Soft and afraid, my solo.
My stories become my bass.
Thrumming.
My words, my thoughts, my actions...
Become my music, my personal garage-band
A warm corner to turn to when the rest of the world is cold.
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