Pure.

the emptiness i find cannot be measured by days

it is but a swollen hole that pulsates, longingly, within me.

it is that which gives birth to passions that squirm in my gut

and make my eyes water, thirsty.

the pure tones that that sound like that moment the sun fills the sky,

they resound beautifully within my head,

the pretty sonatas and the wild operas and the deary requiems.

will you take me home?

will you be a balm to the achey parts?

will you refine my imagination and inspiration?

will you be the key?

___________________

i crave for those pure tones emmitted by an ochestra playing in a massive open air stadium.