Treasure Island

Chris Townsend


Thunder


Raging drums pound me into submission,
Pollution for my ears,
Pushed into a corner, no journey to take,
Its been this way for years,

Constant vibration my movement,
My sensation to take,
Into another trance another moment
Of oblivion to make,

My hands move without making waves
No air to move around,
As the bass attacks my feelings,
Deep into the ground,

So I will play as the audience says I should,
These drums to capture how I feel,
Just so long as the sensations I have,
Never reach my touch into surreal,

Another rage another lack of oxygen
As my muscles crave fresh air,
Leaving my mind in a blank state,
Living without a care…

Submitted: Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Edited: Tuesday, January 21, 2014

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