Listen

To him,
Music was more than noise.
It flowed through him,
He breathed it,
He lived it.
His head whirled with music,
Only he could hear.
He sat at an empty desk,
In his empty room,
While music flew through his filling head.

His hands tapped his desk,
Wind whistling,
Birds singing,
Front door slaming.
A woman calls out,
For her only son.
He looks up, unmoving.

She storms down his door,
Breaking his spell of sound.
He almost cries out,
The music's absence is too much.
It's all he has.

The woman yells;
Why couldn't he stop day dreaming,
Do some real work?
He says he is tired of work.
She batters his desk.
That's no excuse, she growls,
Life isn't fair, get used to it.
She smashes the door shut on her way out.

He is left,
In his room,
With nothing,
But his desk,
His empty paper,
A leaky window.
Then his music came back.

But it wasn't coming back,
He reasoned,
The song is always there,
He just hadn't been listening.