Yes

With the screeching of rusty tires the bus came to a stop on the long, dusty back country road. A pair of ratty old Converse walked down the isle, one with the shoelaces untied, and the other with a tear down the length of it.
A short hop and Sam hit the ground, letting up a puff of sand. The big yellow bus pulled away as he started walking down the forlorn road. He never understood why the bus didn’t just drop him off at his house? Why the middle of nowhere down a road half a mile away? Not that he wanted to be at his house anyways, not with the way things were now. With his parents constantly fighting he wished he could spend less time there.
Now that he thought about it he relished this time, the half a mile walk down the long path to nowhere. Either side of him was just plain out flatlands and fields. He rarely saw any cars go past and there weren’t any other people for miles in either direction. It was just him and the sound of the lonely wind passing over the stalks of grain populating the fields. He relished the silence.
It was over too soon, he reached his house and reluctantly walked down the gravel driveway, an old dodge pickup parked in the driveway. Sam’s dad was home. As he reached the door he could already hear the yelling. Pulling it open the yelling got taken a level higher. It was his mother and father fighting again. This time it sounded like something about his father being out to late getting drunk and he retaliated in calling his mother a bitch. After that some profanity was thrown back and forth. Sam wasn’t going to stay and hear the rest so he retreated off to his room.
He reached the top step of the stairway and pulled open his door. This was his sanctuary. He quietly shut the door, it wouldn’t matter, the arguing had gotten so loud he didn’t even think they knew he was home. He walked over to his dresser and picked up his old ipod. It was a pitiful looking thing. All scratched up and the hold button was missing but it was his second most prized possession.
It had taken him almost two years to be able to afford it. Working odd jobs for two summers he had just been able to scrounge up enough money to get it. Luckily his mother still had her computer and he was able to get songs off Limewire to fill his ipod with.
Besides his ipod was his most prized possession, his guitar. It was old; like his ipod and the strings were ready to break in two but to him it was the best thing on earth. He picked it up and ran his hand along the edge. His chest almost burst with affection.
He picked up his small amp and brought that and the guitar over to his window. He opened the window and out onto the roof of the porch. It was a wonderful view from up there, you could see for miles in every direction. The plains looked like the ocean as the waves of the wind sailed across the stalks of grain only to break upon the blue silhouettes of mountains in the distance. Sam liked to sit up here the nights the fighting of his parents kept him up.
He pulled out his guitar and amp and placed them on the roof. Crawling back in he plugged the amp into a socket and pulled his window as shut as it could go. He put the headphones on his head, plugged in his guitar, and turned on the music.
The sound of Punk-Rock filled his ears. A magical sensation rushed through his entire body. He started strumming, never missing a note. The grain in the field below swayed to and fro, his audience. The porch below his feet, a stage. The rush of the wind, his applause. As the song ended he let out a breath of confirmation. At that exact moment he was hit with a feeling unlike any he had ever had before. At that exact moment he knew his destiny, his fate. He was going to play in a band, he was going to get away from this life, he was going to be a rock star.
With this feeling running through him like ice-water he climbed back into his room and emptied his book bag on the floor and loaded it with his clothes and all the money he had. He put his loaded book bag out the window on the roof of the porch along with his amp and guitar.
He sat down at his desk with a pen and paper. With tears in his eyes he started to write.
Dear Mom and Dad,
To start off I want to say I love you both with all my heart. I just can’t stand the fighting anymore. I’ve decided I’m going to get out of your hair, since it’s me you fight over the most anyways. Please don’t be mad. I love you both so much. I want to do something with my life and I can’t do that with you two fighting. Please don’t come looking for me. I can’t express my love for you enough. Please stop fighting.
I LOVE YOU WITH ALL MY HEART
SAM
He left the paper where he wrote it and walked to his window. With a look back, it was all he could do not to cry. His childhood, all his memories were in this room. For a second he almost changed his mind, but with some hidden determination he continued out his window, the sound of fighting in the background.
With his amp’s power cord wrapped around his guitar case he lowered it to the ground. He then proceeded to toss off his book bag, lowering down his amp, and lastly jumping off himself. It was a short drop to the ground and he doubt that anyone heard or saw him.
He ran to the barn and grabbed his bike and rode it out front. He slung his book bag over his shoulders and, tying his amp firmly to his guitar case with a piece of rope, pulled that over his book bag.
A small push sent him forward and he started pedaling. About fifty feet away he turned and looked back at the old farm house. It’s peeling white paint, sun bleached roof, and rickety old porch all sacred to him. His eyes welled up and he started to cry. And as he rode away from all he knew, down that old and dusty rode, he swore himself a better life.

I Heart Music

I Thought It Was A Cool Picture

Paradoyx Poem

I’m big and tall
Yet very small
My mind is like an olympic torch
I have an original
Yet I have a backup
It’s stored in digital
On my Computer is where it’d be
It’s where I store all my memories
And now you know a little
About my life
That’s really all I can write
Because this project I would really love
To smite

Flute Practice

Flute Practice

A large brown house sat on the corner of Elm and Select street. Inside that house lived one of the most amazing musicians left on the Planet. I walked down Select street, my flute case in hand, while staring up at the Sky. Nothing different, the same yellow-orange cloud cover that never dissipates still there, the Sun a weak red orb barely shining through. I had heard that the Sky was blue and the Sun a large yellow splotch in it. But those were only old tales that Chester Winston, my flute teacher, told me.
I pulled my jacket closer to my body, because even though it was the middle of summer, it was incredibly cold. A snap of a twig and I, startled, looked around me, no one there. Nothing but black, dead leafless trees. My mother had offered me a ride but I refused. Being twelve, I told her I was a big girl and could walk by myself. Hesitantly she said I was right and let me walk to Mr. Winston’s unaided.
I changed my view from the ugly sky to the ugly grass below. It was a bloody red color and always prickly. I looked at my old black shoes now getting smudged by the dirty red grass. Like the sting of a bee I instantly felt a tiny pain in my right arm, then another and another. I quickly glanced at the sky and to my biggest fear, there it was, Acid Rain. As fast as my feet would carry me I took off for Mr. Winston’s house.
I reached Mr. Winston’s house just in time. I grabbed the door handle, swung it open, and flung myself in. Mr. Winston, startled, ran towards me. There was a boom of thunder and the rain started to come down in a torrent. Being caught in that would have burned me alive. Mr. Winston helped me up and helped me take off my respirator. The fresh air flooded my lungs and it was the most amazing feeling in the world. I gulped lungful after lungful of fresh air.
“Are you okay?” he asked
“Yes, Yes, I’m fine” I replied
“You’re lucky you know you just made it.”
“Yes” I said “I know, can you teach me more now.”
“Of course I can, here take a seat.” He said offering me a spot on his bench.
I took a seat and he followed suit. With the clasp of the locks my Flute case opened up and I pulled out my flute.
“Can I show you what I came up with?”
“Of course you can.” He said as he pulled over his Harp.
I started playing a soft tune and he followed with a peaceful melody off the Harp. As the artificial air machine hummed and the thunder outside clapped, along with the soft melodies of Mr. Winston and I, we created a symphony of music all our own.
A.Blye

Music Poem

Music Poem

Rat A Tat Tat
And A Rum A Tum Tum
There Goes Aron Blye
Beatin’ On His Drums
Every Day Is The Same Song
Just A Different Verse
Addicted To Music
This Is My Curse
Drumsticks Spin In The Air
As The Guitarist Plugs In
On The Count Of Three
Were Ready To Begin
The Music Is So Loud
The Amps All Pop
A Sharp Knocking At My Door
I Guess The Neighbors Called The Cops.