Pulse

My shoe is the engineer of motion.

It controls the speed at which the

music flows from my hands.

Interdimensional focus draws the

percussionists to the center of the floor.

They will so speed away as if

flying to opposite ends of the earth.

Such pattern only makes sense to those

who happen to take part in it.

The steel notes of a bass pulse beat,

leading the drumline to zigzagged lines.

La musique est fou.

Les gens ont beaucoup d'amour pour

les instruments qu'ils jouent.

Pulses beat

acceleration, deceleration

hands flying so fast only a blurred

image can be seen.

Snares race to the edge of the floor,

faster than their sound can travel.

Drums speak a harsh tune

that warms the soul.

The decrescendo

brings me back to reality.

The line finishes.

The memory remains

the heart always remembers

the beat of the drum but the feet

will control the tempo and

engineer the motion.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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