As the first note begins,
My stomach sinks to my feet,
The chords hitting my soul in a way I can't describe.
The notes rush through my veins,
Moving faster with the speed of my racing heart.
My voice rises with those of the people around my,
All care for the world flying away.
This is my cry.
This is the screaming call of a tortured spirit.
The rules of society are nonexistent here,
In the presence of such beauty,
Of such music,
So raise your voice and sing.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection: Stories and Poems
Short Story"Writers see the world differently. Every voice we hear, every face we see, every hand we touch could become story fabric." -Buffy Andrews
