Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Action Poetry

the optimum symphony
is played without hands,
night whispers crescendo
with crayon colored dreams.

the music that moves me
is steel,
yet moveable,
molding to my skin,

the divine chorus
is met in your eyes
and wasted time
spent under a half moon,
chasing fireflies and love.

my solo is dense,
set in marble, or
deep within the earth's womb.
wrought by the molten core
of a passion,
i've cooled at the crust.

the best music is born
from the dirty mouth
of late night confessions
and thursday morning revelations.