Rhythms Playing Themselves In Musician's Instruments Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Jetting down train tracks full speed ahead, moving quickly
around the mountains as a lonesome whistle blows into the
atmosphere.

Watching as rhythms play themselves in Musician's Instruments,
then sending them out to the audience in order to dance across
the dance floor.

Whispering sweet little nothings in one another's ears, rush-
ing rhythms beating their way, blowing whistle and running
far ahead.

Wanting to get beyond the musical developments rushing all
about them and hurrying into the distance, lively rhythms
going along with them.

Never slowing down, adjusting them in order to find new avenues
of music to play in a constant and incessant way, so that none
of them get past.

Jumping turning, falling into line, hoping it will never end,
listening as rhythms are focused on those of us who're sitting
here awaiting the ending, but not wanting to hear it end.

Reaching past lengths of music starting to take it into the
beauty of imagery through nature, a fascinating and enlightening
temptation that loves fast and rapid music pacing it.

Beating of the drums calling out to everyone that life must be
lived and never let go of while alive, for there is no reason
to give into death so soon.
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