Fingers Strike A Chord Poem by Brennah Bailey

The hum of the guitar reaches the headphones and my feet begin their thrum against the
pavement.
The tempo crescendo’s with my steady heartbeat.
Blood rushes with the drums
A voice and sneakers take flight over the ditch and along the dirt path
The surround sound of the trickling brook and the cool depth of the words prick against my moving
legs.
Trees rise overhead and the beat narrows to a thin shred of a nonexistent path.
The sky breaks open with a voice so heavy that it pours down and drips off my swinging hair.
The final chords drift out along with the
ragged moving breath of my lungs