Crescendo
Forte, rage
Incessant pounding, strumming
All in unison
The rain marches on
Falling on tympani
The sound vibrations in the air
Like hands and fingertips
Enveloping and touching me
The way air does,
The way air courses through my body
I can feel my soul grow
Like soft, dangerous gray clouds
Like shadows on a sharp note
Like the lines running on and on
My heart beats to the crash of the cymbal
I'm washed by the wave of notes
My body in its command
Aye, I am music's puppet
