I am grateful for Sound
Every click, swoosh, tap that rings my eardrum
Every intentional pluck of a string,
Every accidental crash; I am grateful
Every accidental crash; I am grateful
The pencil scratch that moves in a straight line
the sound creates a picture
the sound creates a picture
Without seeing a single flash of light or image,
Sound encapsulates this vivid sense of space and belonging
You can not just hear but feel, where y o u ar e
Tone, a mousy whisper communicated only through sound
Tone, an enraged yell spoken in volumes
Tone, a heartbroken whimper heard in the faults in your voice as you speak, pain
Never is there a display of entertainment more encompassing than the art of music
I have never seen words or pictures that have spoken -not to me as a person, outward and presented but to me a raw mirage, a soul- as music does
So often discarded as a background soundtrack to larger grandiose events like evening socials, thesis writings, and long drives: it goes underappreciated, unthought of
Music is a loud burst of temperament that bangs on the door not to be ignored,
It will not be disregarded,
like a screaming toddler locked in a room, helpless and begging
it cannot be forgotten.
I have met some who claim they are simply “not into music”
Yet, It is so simple to not have a soul?
To not be aided by the poetic yearning of artists who scream their torment, their joy, their pain for you
To not find solace in the composings of a man who is torn apart as you are
To not find joy in the beltings of a singer who is sharing in more than her words could ever say how proud she is to be a mother
To not find pain in the mumblings of a mad man bent over a piano slowly losing all that he has held dear
Are you not human?
Instruments sing emotions too complex to be put in words
The most comfort I have felt,
greater than any of the hugs from family or friends or words people share in an attempt to comfort and understand what they clearly do not about you,
Is the sound of the needle as it first lands on the dusty plastic disc
Music, a great yawp of joy
Brings you spinning to a field where you can feel the tall grass itch upon your knees and feel the warm light shine down upon you
Music, a great decay of sorrow
Jerks you deep into the empty cave in your heart, cold wet, empty, and echoing
Music, a great display of anger
Takes all the hate, and pain, and suffering and fear you hold in your fists when you see them lets it out in a violent explosion; a scream so mighty that your yourself disintegrate and travel with the sound over the walls and trees and stones it echos
Sound holds memory,
holds meaning.
Sound is not to be neglected.
