The Gossiper (A Poem)
3 Mar 08
The music starts softly, slowly drawing you in until suddenly you realize the notes are pulling you in a direction you’re not willing to follow. You’re captured in the spill of sound with, seemingly, no form of rescue in sight. The music, which is no longer music at all, but a blasting of cymbals, heightens, a crescendo topping the waves of your intellect, threatening to pull you forever down into the madness of blaring horns. Suddenly, the music slows, the notes flatten, and the orchestra dies down. The conversation is finally over.
© Trena Jones, 2008
Friday, December 11, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Wow, has it really been two years?!
It's been two years since I've updated this space; funny how time can get away from you. So many things have happened... Stay tuned, I will be back!
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