The music pounds
Throbbing like a bass drum
Beating and hammering like a heart
Straining to survive
On the edge of bursting
Its rhythm, incessant and monotonous
Rattles the floor
Searching out occupants
Infecting the throng
With its primal roar
Primitive as the ages
Yet intriguing as the current day
Dulling the edges of the angst
Trying to fit in to a niche
That few understand
Or want to give a chance
Humor and fear drives
Nails into a façade
Of feminine grace
Ambiguity is the norm
The participants strive to perform
With style and taste
As the intimate crowd rewards
Each success
A ritualistic ceremony of monarchs for a moment
With servants paying homage, to the worshipped few
The music stops the lights ebb
Royalty is no more.
"Dulling the edges of the angst," I LOVE this line. God knows my angst requires dulling every now and again. I am also impressed by the depth of your understanding where your sons are concerned.
there are some great lines in this piece...great title...a throb that accompanies the reader throughout, like a drum in the jungle, it feels primal...loved: (heart)"On the edge of bursting" AND "The music stops the lights ebb"...nice work, *jewels*
