Brought into the world with melodies of Mozart Bach, Brahms, and Beethoven lull her to sleep Until changes of rhythm are changes of heart And her thoughts float along on a synthesized beat When keyboard melodies don’t seem to strike true Yelling and echoes become her releases Metal fading to a subtler hue Drum-beats in backgrounds crumble her into pieces And then a facade, manufactured brightness Of kicklines and jazz-hands and dying inside Suddenly inside out, then she’s finding her likeness In saxes and trombones and shedding her pride Finding refuge in stories and strummings she missed Familiar voices wrap her up in bliss
Sonnet in G Major, e.d.
Here’s the poem I was rubbing my hands together maniacally about. It’s a sonnet, so if you notice, there’s a line for everyday that I didn’t post. In case you couldn’t tell yet, yes, it’s original.
