the steady cadence of the bass drum supplies his heartbeat
and the jumbled, tangled rests contain the silence his heart cannot contaminate

the dictating time signatures sign his life’s will
and the wavering tempo determines the pace of his essence

the voice of his impacts with the aid of an alluring tune
and the black and white of his fingers latches on to melodies of the past

the only thing capturing his eye’s lust are the faint notes that are spilled on bleached paper
and the shaded clefs that indicate his distinct bond with the art of sound

for he is a being of music
and without it,
he is nothing but a secret shadow of nonexistence