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And I see her everywhere Vanishing in the thin blue air A sealed letter in her hand Postmarked from a foreign land Her uniform and face are blue
a melody strung upon a page, many don't understand.   what they see strange symbols  latin words
All who attempt to Behold the wondrous works Of the ancient wielders of pathos Are to wait until eternal rest comes upon them
There are both black and white notes, And there is always another chord, But I don't want to lose what we wrote. I'm pushing the pedal down, Praying to hold our sound. Though, I know it will fade away.
That boy was only 17 Lyrics coming out from his eyes Those hands Those eyes His guitar, my ukulele
I asked him if he wanted to  Learn my anatomy, And now I know his
He told me He was learning anatomy, I should have asked If he wanted to learn mine.
Music speaks to me when you don't Headphones soup bowls bigger than my heart's holes  Hip hop a blessing an escape from the problem I'm not addressing shouting aggression yet soothing my depression
Notes on a page. I have become  The inks and papers.   I am the notes the teachers explain, Copied down in frantic scribbles Nearly illegible, Vaguely understood,
Strings are her muscles,  And the amplifier is her heart.  I feel the music travels, 
Notes pour from meAs my fingers glide along the stringsA smile grows upon my faceAs my guitar begins to singBlocking out the noise of the worldI am one with the musicCreating a harmonious signal
This is what I need The upbeat keeps me focused Music is my love.
I wish that you would write to me. Paragraphs or pages of paper With words of your world for me to see Parchment with pencil or pen Scribbled at half past ten or when your're free  
There are many ways That one may learn Powerpoints, lectures, or reading aloud in turn But my way of learning Is not the same as theirs So stop complaining  When I almost break down in tears
We all stroll in to class. The bell rings. "Settle down class."  You take roll.  "Here."  You tell us we're taking notes. We all sigh in your ear. Taking notes is a drag. 
So you ask, Why Do I Write ? I write because I trust no one but my self. I write because what I have to say is closer to the truth than what another says. I write because its a stress reliever. 
I did not grow up with poetry.I grew up with music.Yet, to me, the former is no different from the latter.     Toes waving in the pool of words beneath me.
Notes are harsh and scores, unfeeling.  They suggest that music's only  noise, or simply ink on paper.   But it's more than beats and pitches, 
Ring, Ring. They shine, they sing. One, Two, Three, Four. The notes they move up and down like a roller coaster.
Ring, Ring. They shine, they sing. One, Two, Three, Four. The notes they move up and down like a roller coaster.
1. someday you’ll ask why your daddy and i are different colours — not because you ever noticed, but because someone else did. i’ll have to explain to you that the electromagnetic spectrum
The mouth of the saxophone is the belly of the player the bones of the player the veins of the player the feet feeling the earth revert the vibrations like an oscillator you should see the waves
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