I’m not one for favorites; I think it’s a form of experiential laziness. That said, there is music that has particular emotional resonance for me because it’s what was playing where I was when I was when I was younger — mostly rock and indie rock.
Matter comes in countless varieties, And the forms are evershifting, as well. Writers must dance the varied characters To dulcet lines where elegance dwells, Finding the right pace, cadence, and stresses To blend like harmony in the five hues. Though the tune fades in and out randomly And the path is rugged and hazard-strewn, Those who know the ways of change and order Will find all falls into place with a flow. But if one misses the proper pivots It's like grabbing the tail to steer the nose -- Like yellow painted onto wet, black walls, One's writing becomes muddy, and it stalls.
a meandering melody hijacked my bliss track and, as I drifted in the void, my spine straightened, my breath slowed, and I tumbled -- for a time -- through eternity.
There once was a primadonna singer Who on a note could forever linger. Thinking her a showboat For dragging out one note, The band took five mid-melisma to share chicken fingers.
There once was a player of the banjo Who took out his act as a roadshow. A tour by demand, (The demand of his band.) Crowds felt the same and suggested he bongo.