Prodigy
I hear it,
That symphony in my head,
Countless notes guiding my being into a new beginning, following the notes and each one creating the orchestra of my body.
But, my hands are frozen, my body frail to the well equip mind,
My band plays on broken down pans and splintered strings.
But a glimpse of well oiled bows, refined power in the hands of the mind.
The chords are close to being heard when the power is lost,
Crumbing in the path of the ashen plane.
Forgotten by the forged fire of the drums
The unbearable thunder in my chest from the outside world.
I’ll stay in my seat,
I’ll watch the destiny before me,
Because I could never go on that stand
And be something.
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