The Blessing And The Curse Of sound

The speakers tremble,

the walls all shake,

A pulse in the air no silence can break,

it climbs through the ceiling,

it floods every vein,

A storm made of rhythm, of joy, and of pain.

Loud music,

a blessing,

a torch in the night,

It carries the broken,

it sets hearts alight.

The bass is a heartbeat when ours feels too weak,

The chorus a language when we cannot speak.

It drowns out the voices that whisper of doubt,

It silences fears we can’t talk about.

it pushes the shadows back into the floor,

It builds us a refuge,

it opens a door.

But the blessing can twist,

it can turn,

it can bite,

A wave that consumes what once gave us light.

The volume too heavy,

the echo too near,

It deafens the laughter,

it buries the tear.

It numbs all the thinking,

it cages the mind,

It steals gentle whispers we’re aching to find.

What soothes us can also be shackles of sound,

A thunder that keeps our own thoughts tightly bound.

For music is power

an untamed sea,

It heals or it harms,

depending on me.

I ride on its currents,

I drown in its tide,

I hide from the world,

yet the world cannot hide.

So I let it wash over,

both venom and balm,

A hurricane’s fury,

a lullaby’s calm.

For in every blessing,

a curse may reside,

And in every curse,

a gift may still hide.