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Timeless tones Words without love, without sound,Strokes along my ear. Meaningless, playful sounds,preached to me of incredible beauty.
BOOM BOOM BOOM My inside drum has its own sound It can be ear splitting or barely heard Or every noise in between But it’s special and unique and only mine
May 17: Stridulation - to produce a shrill, grating sound, as a cricket does, by rubbing together certain parts of the body
So it begins. The temperature rises. Everyone's running amok Willing to do whatever it takes To make the loudest sounds Find the one, Reproduce, Die, So the ones after me
This view reminds me of a Norwegian fjord though I’ve never seen one in my life. The magnificent rocks
Raindrops Pooling on my windowsill Splish splash, splish splash A cool breeze Wind chimes twinkling and twirling Crickets chirping As the lightning bugs flutter about
You know that feeling. When you're sitting there and you're not doing anything. And you start to zone out, but when you come back everything is all over the place and suddenly in your faceAnd your breathing gets loud
Why do we fear thunder? Thunder can’t hurt you It’s just a sound. Why do we fear gunshots? Gunshots can’t hurt you They’re just a sound. Why do we fear screaming?
The silence surrounds, Tick tock, Tick tock, I hear the delicate hands move, Much like my own, They drift in movement, My breathing grows light, I listen for silence, A floorboard creaks,
Words cannot express The joy I feel when I open my mouth to sing words with sultry sounds The serenade of emotion filling each verse Everytime I fill the room with a melody My heart is fulfilled
Pick me up When I feel down The rain pours Thunder in the background Lightening flashes Brightening a lamp lit home Candles going, crackling like a fire The smell of pine surrounding me with warmth
Sleep Nice dreaming free no sound
It makes me sad that no one will ever know how I sound to me. I think I sound better that way. But I will never be able to sound that way to others. I feel like my voice isn't me.
Maybe the sound I hear isn’t the melodic tone I perceive it to be. Even angels couldn’t open their lips to evaluate its harmonious wonder.
This promp was all about words. They didn't have to make sense grouped together, the point was to listen to the sounds. My lavish disposition glorious sightless
You hear the muffled whispers hiding in this room you're listening and you're listening but still the whispers loom haunting whispers in the night you know that they should give you fright
I hear the crickets chirping absent of rhythm. I hear the clock ticking away the seconds. I hear my blood pumping through my veins. I hear the creaking of the swing outside.
Crunch! The salty morsale dives down With echoed fractures Closely followed by The bag crumpling again. Beep! Beep! Bee-beep! Our alarm system calls out Indicating an airy guest
Tapping the pencil against a desk, the scraping of a chair across the hardwood floor,running fingers along the keys of a piano lost in thought, what is that intangible, sweet tasting sound I've come to adore? My ears have per
The buzzing sounds of machines overwhelm our power of sound, mainstream rhythm is concealed. Birds that beautifully chirp, chirp, chirp
My name is Syed. It means leader in Arabic. I was named after the many respected Muslim leaders before me. Yesterday my name was reserved. Tomorrow my name will be outgoing. In my dream my name was optimism.
The Sounds I Hear
The squeals of a little girl, the thud of horse hooves, The rattle of rain down the shingles of roofs, The clamor of traffic, the roaring whistle of trains, The deafening throb of machinery numbing the brain,