A thousand heavy roars of thunder rolling over an abandoned sea,
Aims to drown out the interruptive sounds of chatter, while I write and sip my tea.
I check out of the world for a moment, as I rest the tips of my fingers on top of the keyboard.
The constant static continues to deafen the surrounding air, with the pleasant buzzing of an angry insect horde.
I fall deep within the compounds of the unending sound,
And take comfort in the protection of its stagnant power.
I know its mission is one that is peace bound,
As I stand in the cool droplets of the melodic shower.
A thousand mighty gods and goddesses shake the sky in their musical uproar,
Demanding all those beneath them to focus on tasks that they provided muses for.
We study texts, and write stories in an intricate space of composition,
That results in a state of great accomplishment and glorious acquisition.
Jazzed About Stuff 