This is very short and obvious, but I haven't written anything in four months so... review it(: thanks. *NOTE* many think this is not easy to understand and does not "flow". Correction. Life is not easy to understand. My mind didnt flow when writing this 1. since the person who this is about never makes any sense and 2. the point was to make everyone who read it -- think. Thinking yet?
Each day I think and I wonder
about where you can find yourself.
Keys unlock your secrets,
The very same that make your music.
Fingers dance across; making sound.
Who are you?
Your song is embedded within,
It echoes.
It travels.
Your love dies,
And the deaf cave engulfs you.
True Meaning: There's this guy i know. he's a piano player. he loves it. He has many secrets, many of which, i will never understand. (seriously, he plays like Beethoven. no joke). One day, i this guy just stopped playing. I have no idea why. but he just stopped randomly one day. Thats why the poem ends so abrubtly.
