Poetry

Chill Days, 14 (319.)

It’s funny, the way that music
sometimes clings like lichen
until I can’t remember a time it wasn’t there.
If I’m the biggest rock in my life,
then some music just sticks to me
and gives me a life beyond my own.
There’s dancing, there’s jamming, there’s
singing, singing is the best,
with or without an audience.
Sometimes I don’t like the music
that perches upon my stony face,
but given some time, I can usually
come around to embracing it.
While it plays, who needs words?
I’ll let this music
weave its way into my thoughts.

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