Music

Dreams cannot be stolen, only given. Music is my seed, by being. Every pulse, beat, twitch, tingle, and thought, forms a song. My body sings to me. An artist hears their song, and transforms it into reality. Like a blind man on piano keys, or BB King unknowingly playing the guitar perfectly. Music is my seed. Like Sachmoe's cheeks, or the riffs in Ela Fitzgearld's voice. The breeze behind Goapelle's "closer to my dreams". I can only imagine the battle in the home of the Georgia peach, or slave's singing hymn's to cover the pain behind cotton seeds. This inspiration knows me. A love so deep, yet hidden behind dollar signs, cause kids gotta eat. Wealth is desired, but music is used to celebrate success, to honor one's dreams. I use music as my seed. I use high hat's, guitar strings, and bass beats to electrically jump start me. The sax, piano keys, and trumpet to motivate me sexually, while stimulating mentally. A banjo and harmonica to enjoy the country, as I travel cross country. The vibrations of car windows to release the strain and tension of the streets. Music is my seed, my being. The life force allowing me to dream.. A connection with god only expierenced by a lover of music, connecting like maternity.