Tangents

** A random creation inspired by something a friend had randomly said on a Saturday afternoon... The poem was then "performed" in front of an audience... It is finally being published on this blog **

They made music and
They kept their lighters in strategic places.
When they spoke, they spoke of smoke.
When they wrote, they could fill pockets of penniless coats.
High octanes and dismal lows.
They met the Sun in bottomless holes.
They smelled of clay.
They would do nothing all day but play.
They sang songs.
Words...
That were tangled in guitars strings.
Chords...
That made tangents across the globe.

They were nobodies stuck in earthly bodies.
Singing earthly songs.
Earthly vows of life bound them to their soul.
They were music.
And it was Music that made them whole.

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