Freedom Notes
I pick it up and place it on my lips
From the first sound
Every thing flows out
All my emotions
Pouring out onto the street
sometimes sharp and precise
other times soft and calm
I mess up but I keep on going
It is my outet
I can't hear anything
I can't see anthing else except the notes
I am so into it
I am blind to the
horrors the world
lost in the notes
of freedom
This poem is about:
Me