some spurts of imagination, inspiration, or shit or something.idk.
Title: Music
Author: bearklaus
Summary: And out ears don't vibrate anymore, hearing nothing; only silent battles and quiet kisses that don't mean anything.
No beat, no pitch, no sound. There's no music playing, only silence. It's an attempt but it doesn't try hard enough. It's a mouth forming no words, a blank paper with no pencil in sight.
And we continue on like this, left with the negatives of the pictures we had in front of our eyes. And our ears don't vibrate anymore, hearing nothing; only silent battles and quiet kisses that don't mean anything. A busy intersection becomes a cacophony of soundless noise and colour, blurring into a black-and-white picture with no movement and rushed blurs, going some place they can't even remember.
Those notes are lonely, with no guidance, nothing to make them what they were supposed to be. No scale to give them meaning and no beat to play to, and each one just floats around waiting to have a line drawn through them. Is this what freedom is like? Where everyone runs around in their own business, grouping and ungrouping and needing help in every way.
Sooner or later, some one realizes this and the closed mouth opens, producing beauty, and where there was no pencil anywhere, a pen was found deep inside the throat from which the art of the world flows. Black-and-white is painstakingly coloured in and every ear turns to listen like it had done before and vibrates with joy. Feelings rejoice and play in the pools of sight-filled eyes. And the mouth stretches, the corners twitching along with the sound of music.
..Finally.. a smile.
Author: bearklaus
Summary: And out ears don't vibrate anymore, hearing nothing; only silent battles and quiet kisses that don't mean anything.
No beat, no pitch, no sound. There's no music playing, only silence. It's an attempt but it doesn't try hard enough. It's a mouth forming no words, a blank paper with no pencil in sight.
And we continue on like this, left with the negatives of the pictures we had in front of our eyes. And our ears don't vibrate anymore, hearing nothing; only silent battles and quiet kisses that don't mean anything. A busy intersection becomes a cacophony of soundless noise and colour, blurring into a black-and-white picture with no movement and rushed blurs, going some place they can't even remember.
Those notes are lonely, with no guidance, nothing to make them what they were supposed to be. No scale to give them meaning and no beat to play to, and each one just floats around waiting to have a line drawn through them. Is this what freedom is like? Where everyone runs around in their own business, grouping and ungrouping and needing help in every way.
Sooner or later, some one realizes this and the closed mouth opens, producing beauty, and where there was no pencil anywhere, a pen was found deep inside the throat from which the art of the world flows. Black-and-white is painstakingly coloured in and every ear turns to listen like it had done before and vibrates with joy. Feelings rejoice and play in the pools of sight-filled eyes. And the mouth stretches, the corners twitching along with the sound of music.
..Finally.. a smile.