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Tuesday, February 14, 2017

A sense of being completely alone,
An attempt at isolating oneself,
Making man an island
In the only way short of witchcraft.

Hearing from the outside.
A low-quality hum among the din,
One peek into their isolation.
The cloying tease of a song
Putting you on the strained, uneasy fringe,
Halfway between their world and your own.

There’s a certain code of conduct
That surrounds headphones,
A mutual agreement that should be understood,
Do not talk to me.
Don’t utter a single syllable.
Because the only thing keeping my reeling mind
From causing a hurricane in my head
Is the music from two little earbuds, calming.
And in return,
I won’t bother you.

A form of escapism,
To leave your own world behind
And to join another.
The fastest method of transport,
Second only to a private jet.
An overwhelming bass
To the pluck of a guitar
One second in Harlem,
The next in Nashville.

Use your headphones and
Depart from class lines and discrimination.
A thousand people listen to that same beat.
That same encouraging rhythm,
Those thousands with the same influence,
Creating an unseen community without barriers,

Headphones cleanse the mind,
Rid the brain of worries and wayward thought.
Bathe it in the holy miracle of letting go.
Its a following, a cult of relaxation,
That baptizes with a flow of sound
And relieves you of torment over your sins.

One of many intoxicating sacrifices of love,
Splitting headphones,
Sharing your music,
A piece of your world,
Losing the quality of the song,
For the presence of another.
A new level of intimacy.
Love born on the sound of
One earbud full of jazz.
A trade:
An ear for a heart.

A bud that doesn’t bloom,
A citar shaped piece on a string
That can make music out of seemingly nothing.
Surely this magic must have been inspired by the Muses.