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No Place Like Music

(Original Extended Metaphor)

August 13, 2021

The day has come to an end
And at last, we have reached
The start of beautiful sounds
Laying upon our ears

The joy of home
What a pleasant composition
Wind chimes tinkling 
Like the sweet tone of a piccolo

The fireplace is rumbling, deep
As daunting as a stringed bass
Hushing all around it
Not a whisper to be heard

Oh! What is that anxious rhythm?
That tip-toe, predictable, yet dramatic
It comes from the wooden wall clock
Suspenseful, like the pizzicato of a violin

With each special noise
Equal in importance like the instruments of a band
A sense of comfort rises, and joy is spread
There truly is no place like music 

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Conscience.

(Original Free Verse)

August 11, 2020

every day the plum tries

tries to have ruby red skin
glistening in the light

tries to look appealing
to fit in with all of its kind

sure,
it manages to do it
but The Pit never fades

it tries to ripen pleasantly
with trickling yellow juice

eventually too sweet, 
rotting, mushing

it is grabbed, tossed out
like an empty pop can, disregarded

if only it had listened to itself
for The Pit never fades