The Girl Who Listens To A Young Man's Song
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For some, music is not just a pastime,
It’s an undeniable fact of living,
A blissful slavery of mind, body and soul.
To rise above the ashes of mediocrity is rare,
Yet the gift of song is freely handed out to anyone who cares to receive it,
Instantly shattering our daily drudgery.
The path to pursue more than the usual,
More than what is safe and known,
Is wrought with time-sharpened jagged blades that cut deep,
Blocking many from the road to something greater,
Beyond the stunted imagination of their peers.
Within the veins of the few,
Passion fills every sinew with a sweet unquenchable purpose,
Calming the fear of those treacherous paths,
Though every slice burns and bleeds,
Still they take each cut
And wear the scars with pride to signal their choice,
That undying pursuit of greater joy within every cord.
And so they say – Watch me bleed.