Before The Clouds Move Over Riding his purple Harley Davidson At a thoughtful controlled speed Along the dusty winding mountain top road Not long now, till he’s at his sanctuary. The power of music still revving In his inner voice, his heart and soul Unfinished choruses Half thought out melodies A musician that’s born, not made. All was quiet as the bike cooled down He sat in his favourite spot Looking down onto the lake No distractions here. A tune he knows by heart, now plays in his head His lips mime the words This tune he started working on a year or so ago But he keeps coming back to Because something is still missing He still can’t leave this alone. The sun’s rays interrupt his composing Shadow of the bike now in front of his feet Then the birds from nowhere swoop down low Heading for the lake-side trees They start a melody so beautiful, no musician has ever matched But then they argue And the tune is lost...
My writings, thoughts, works in progress, mistakes, stumbles