Catharsis: 365 days of poetry

140: the hills have music.

A solemn place,
where music plays in my head.
A tranquil state,
where the true melodies extend.

A playlist on repeat,
all over and around.
A track on the right beat,
with the right sound.

Sound waves rejoice
to create art so religiously.
An orchestra of noise
with the most composed symphony.

Standing at the summit,
in tune to the cicadas.
Night fall will soon plummet
as nature stands as its biggest creator.