Here's a little poem I wrote this morning.
old wooden boxes
all strung up in strings
open our minds to so many things
our hearts open locks
when these things we do
and happy or sad, our souls just shine through
whether a waltz, or four four in time
a song has a way to open the mind
and whether in tune, or slightly off kilter
the soul seems to act as a finely grained filter
frequency flashes
harmony crashes
notes on a scale
waves of emotion
rock on the ocean
of sound, and they wail
they sing, they cry, they laugh, they die
old wooden boxes
carry the keys to the soul
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