Our Thunderous Silences

High school: A cacophony of deafening personalities, Everyone racing, Competing, Fighting for individuality In the midst of a war That cannot end. If we had nothing to battle, What would we do With our emerging identities? In a symphony of adolescent instrumentals, I am the piano, Dancing quietly below the louder instruments, Just soft enough to remain underneath their notes But important enough that without me The entire piece would fall flat And be reduced to nothing But useless noise. I must pay close attention To every note I play; One misstep and the piece comes crashing Down around our sunburned ears. No matter how cautious I am, There will always be the one line That my fingers stumble over: I've learned to keep moving, Keep playing, And smile like I haven't royally screwed up.