Jazz poem
There's something about the pain,
how it makes you struggle.
How it makes you listen and listen
knowing there is no real answer.
Maybe there is?
and yet the feeling goes on.
The pulse, the fire... the drive.
If it were just pure energy
the answer might be found somewhere.
In a textbook perhaps.
But no, it is more than that-
it is art, music, sound, power, time...
drive, feeling, pain, and love.
Cubdriver