The Rock Is the Roll
I’m running, holding in a bomb,
I dash past,
Before you see me I’m gone.
The string is about to expire,
I’m a muse on a fuse,
And an artist will rise from the fire.
That’s how I felt when I first heard rock n’ roll.
Do you remember how that made you feel?
Do you remember how you lost control?
Like being given to a key to an ideal.
Comments about this poem (The Rock Is the Roll by peter francis )
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