Steven Marzella

In reverie, guitar in hand

Alone, plucking each string by its own

Unable to produce the chords that sing sweetly in our head

And beckon for a melody with words we comprehend

The self-proclaimed poet

Prowess deficient of voice and finger

Sitting at a desk, pen in hand

Latent by the book for which I stand

I wish that the world

Could pause all at once

We would take a deep breath and

Listen for the beat that pumps our hearts

Dig the melody that propels the blood through our veins

Bend from the knees

And just jam

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