Wrote this back in high school, it was the last thing i wrote before i switch from poems to rants.

Flowing with the rhyme,

Of the beating drum.

Keeping in time,

With the drifting hum.



The sound is depressing,

It was his own.

The music was repressing,

The sound of a ringing phone.



He wouldn't stop playing,

When the message started.

No attention to what the man was saying,

"she was doomed when she departed"



he kept making his noise,

straight through the night.

Memories in his head,

"It was just the wrong flight"



when the music ended,

alone he fended.

Lost without a wife,

A crash had taken her life.



As the rain outside

Began to pour,

The man went up,

To the fourteenth floor



The music began to play

As he started to fall,

She was the world

He'd lost it all



Their together now,

For all time.

For a love of their own,

Is why a musicians rhyme.