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I'm not really a poet
I get hung up with rhyme
I can give it a beat
I've got a good sense of time
I'm a musician, you see
I create lyrics with sound
But when it comes to words
I just can't break it down
Clarinet-like paintbrush
Bristles are keys
I'll paint you an inferno
I'll paint you the sea
Rich, woody brown tones
And crystal clear white
We'll go to the mountains
We'll soar to great heights
The last note echoes
Back in the hall
The concert is over
You feel very small
We went on a journey
You don't quite know how
You give an ovation
And I take a bow
The music has power
It has life, it has spirit
Give me the melody
And what I feel will be it
Give me words, however,
And then you will see
I'm not really a poet
A musician is me
Today, Mr. :iconralfmaximus:'s Prompt of the Day was something about a poem. So I jot down a haiku, thinking to myself "I'm not a poet. Oh, wait, I did write :icondemonicfury: that one poem... That wasn't half bad. Maybe I'll put it up in scraps. Lawl, maybe I should put a short little poem in the Artist's Comments." And the first four lines popped into my head. And then they wouldn't shut up. So then this happened.

I'm not actually that good at music... I mean, went to state a few times for Solo/Ensemble, but eh. I'm good enough that I'm allowed back to my high school to play in the pit orchestra for the fall musical, but it's not like I didn't do that for three of the four years while I was in high school (the first not occurring because the director didn't realize she could save some money and make students play, who cannot be paid due to laws, etc.). While it would be epic, I doubt I'll be getting a Ph.D. in clarinet anytime soon.

Also, if you've read through all my extra rambling, a winnar is you. =P
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Submitted on
May 11, 2009
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