Communion with Sound (Ode to a Compact Disk)

I remember the first time I heard that CD.
It kick-started my unformed identity.

My head bobbed, lips flapped, heart started to pound:
In sacrilegious, unholy communion with sound.
That CD was a hymn to the best kinds of strife
To define and repeat the whole rest of my life:

To being too honest to have many friends,
To usually losing the girl in the end,
To sports, work and parties taking their toll,
To being unstoppable when I get on a roll,

To wishing to call back those moments of time,
To the struggle of converting thought into rhyme,
To nights spent awake, my gaze on the ceiling,
To finally starting to learn to stop feeling.

I've been listening a while, and from where I'm at,
Every album they sell ought to sound like that.