How do you define yourself?
Do you even know who you are?
And if not,
how can you not
judge others for who they are?
Who a person is, is defined
in many ways.
Just as no two people are alike,
no two people show who they are
in alike ways, although it may seem similar.
Who I am is
which takes different forms,
and comes from different places.
The music can be the high pitch
of an altissimo note
on a silver piccolo,
in perfect tune with the world.
It may be the smooth trill
of a C flute
It may even
be the exuberant strum
of my dad’s old
Its beauty lessened, in recent years
by my much more unskilled hands.
The melody that tells
the story of my life
is a beautiful piece,
though not a flawless one.
the Flute is heard,
above the rest.
The music differs often,
as the seasons do.
And as the people
that influence it changes.
As Autumn nears, the song brightens,
newly reinvigorated by the vibrancy
The drum beats, teaching listening feet
so that they may move
in stunning synchronization.
As snow begins to fall, there is a sadder element
to the song. It is made up of a longing for the energy,
that came before it.
The brightness of autumn fades away
in the hecticness of the school year.
by the blaring of knowledge sought.
In these winter moments,
my priorities shift,
the outdoors is seen mostly through a window,
as I trade in my flute for a book.
Throughout the year the music is ever in flux.
And, however somber it may at times seem,
it is never a solo.
Ever present, Ever important,
fellow musicians surround me and harmonize
contributing their own sounds
to the piece.
Although these musicians may vary greatly
and their melody often seems to clash,
they are all essential
for the concert to continue.
take center stage,
and the timbre of the music I play
rings full of hope and anticipation
for whatever awaits me in the future.
I am anxious to see
what may be accomplished
once I find the perfect note,
to join the chord played by those around me
and take my place among them,
so that the chaos