nycstreetpoet

Where were you at the origin of sound?
Day 4/5:

Resonate with me.
Let's harmonize, baby.
Sing! your right, you're right.
Open your eyes to electric guitars,
snaps crackles and pops of the tube as it plays our song.
Resonate.
The whole world sings along, Edison brought us the sound and we make it move.
Let's harmonize, baby.
We're here at the apex, the pinnacle, and within us there is the sound of the string, the gentle thrum of its steel strings, the skin on skin of drums, the mournful bellow of the horns.
Sing!
Your right is my right. We are the ancestors of the sound, the crafters of song. Toneshapers.
You're right. At the zenith's frightful height there is only a drop down;
let us cascade off this summit in a crash of words and guitar, of horns and winds, let us be as brutal as the crescendo of Ragnarok, yet gentle and inviting as the chimes outside a window.
We hold the sound; we sing it in our bones.
We gave it life, you gave it meaning.
For us, that was worth dying for.
Sing our deaths as we sung our lives.