My music hangs on the wall, most inaudible

and stares at me through soundholes once sung out from and sung into...
drums collect dust, stringed instruments stare, recorders, harmonicas, keyboards are in drawers..
these all are burning into me
songs that i will bare
at a future time
in rooms, on streets, sidewalks, hanging from trees, we will sing again, releasing long lost beats, and musics from my best friend; the lost music department
TO: carlos and his gitarra, and alex and his freak perfect tempo, and sean wherever u r and the wild people that are still wild inside, burning like I