I hear the words, but it is only birds chirping, utter nonsense.
That is why music,
good music that sounds like strawberries with whip cream,
is where I always turn.
The intelligence, the beat, lyrics or no lyrics, hold every emotion
like the sky holds the stars.
The ones who connect the notes understand the value of the world.
Artists, each individual, but feeding off each other,
to create doors to their souls they willingly share.
Hoping to inspire if just one spirit.
Unafraid of judgment, like a child who’s invincible,
their confidence shines because few meanings hold substance, to them.
Assessments brought by misunderstandings are not worth the contemplation of any,
who care as much for their own thought as they do for things genuine.
Some hold a great capacity for different and meaning,
while others are vacant, like an old run down building, just waiting to cave.
They are waiting for a forever forgetting right now.
Caught like a fish on the enchantment,
of a tomorrow that will never arrive.
The others breathing in every second,
content at this moment.
They are the ones.
Who are not just existing, but

living.