I Know why the Youngster Sings.


The night blossoms
as Charlemagne reaches
through the speakers
of the dusty Crosley cruiser.
Guitars rattle the shutters
of turmoil ridden hearts
and release the inner song.  
The vinyl spins.
Troubles crackle
and burn as Catfish
and bottle men
cackle and dance
around the fire in our souls.
They pacify our wandering minds
through headphones
and late night strolls.
In the cold, November Rain
and in basements made of stone,
concrete lives shatter
as musicians clatter
and wordsmiths chisel away
til they reach the bone.
The spine of existence
built in fret boards
and the twang of strings.
Now I know why the youngster sings.
Because baby
we were born to run,
and music is the fuel
that makes us feel alive.
And when the needle screeches
to a final halt,
so will the tyres that drive.

growing upmusicyouth

◄ First Date

Growing Up ►


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