I am a Drummer with Goosebumps on My Arms

I am a listener,

Awakening to the sounds of the day,

Swaying to the whispering rhythms that no one else can hear,

And feeling cool, like in awesome, with goosebumps on my arms.

 

Drums are like an alarm clock

Waking in me the sound of the world around

Train track rhythm runs like sticks on a snare

And a hard rain rolls with a rap, tap, tap across the cymbal

 

                                                                                                                   I am a sound machine.

I am bold rhythms growing with record force,

Nurturing the beats with timeless concentration.

Rumbling, shaking, burnng, breaking.

Bang!

 

I am not a solemn note,

Drifting so slowly to nothing,

Turning the volume to zero,

And getting lost in the slow, sleepy, slumber that comes with silence.

I am a drummer, an artist, and not a lone voice.

I speak for generations making magic called music,

A celebration of freedom, a language of notes.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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