Music sounds different; its ears have different listeners of different times…
And its sounds speak of other words, that to you have less meaning,
Anti for your depressed – too late
Hers with others, within a time I’ve never seen – less now?
Mine safe in the world of my own as it screams inside never to mix with the air.
A place apart from here, a place not in time but in somewhere else much deeper,
I think that unquiet has to be learned to write beautiful words that are thought and that time will come in at its own pace.
I dream of a room in the time to come, filled with a mess of dreams – shared and not formed both alike…
It all takes time in the end and without that thought I’m gone again…