Musicians Muse

I don’t know what it is, about music, 
Even the imaginary sounds, waves, ease, 
My mind and soul. Since the beginning, of time, 
The sound has grown, sweeter, and thicker, 
But quicker. To me, it more about emotion, 
When damned up, holding the ocean, 
The waves of sound, carry, my pain.

 
Slicing and splicing, my nullifying thoughts, 
Replaced, by the luscious, warmth, of relief. 
This is me, This is mine, the very note, 
 of my existence, Brings song, but not for long, 
And when its gone, I retreat, I repeat, 
The steps and stages.

To construct , 
The melodies, every emotion,  intertwined, 
With every soft spoken word, 
Every scream, I should have released, 
Every drop, of blood, I should have, 
Let loose from you. But I will put it all, 
 the perfect formula, into my music, 
my muse, for music is wondrous, 
Unfortunately, fueled by, my agony, my pain, 
  
The bitter sweet taste added to the rain.