The Mosh Pit.
I weave through the throng.
The vibrations coursing about me
rise up through my ankles,
beat in my chest.
I strain to reach my goal,
squeezing into crevices.
Dodging and immersing my self,
pulled with the throes.
Body odour envelops me,
bouncing through the room.
I'm almost there,
my target within reach.
Drunken movements ram into my side,
my toes being crushed into the ground.
Heat spreads through my body,
beads of sweat erupting over me.
Sliding through the last human barrier,
I am there, the steel fence.
I sing along with conviction,
staring into the eyes of my rock god.
Party with Dirty Harry.
The first beats stream through the amp,
his crusty, raw voice projects into the space.
The room’s eyes turn
towards the makeshift stage.
Stage lights captured in his aviators,
hypnotizing the crowd.
The stars beating down on the party,
they invite us into night.
The open room floods with cold air,
icing the mood.
I sip my euphoric drink,
to draw the courage,
to join the dancers on the floor.
The Pool of Rock.
It's a musical sideshow of talent and wannabees.
A twenty minute taste,
of an aspiring act.
Squeals mirror in the background.
The force of the amp overpowers the splashes.
The guitarist’s hair glints in the fleeting light,
dusk is crawling upon the gathering.
They discard their inhibitions.
The next novelty arrives on stage.
The screaming girls charge to the front,
focusing intently on the stage
madly applauding their obsession.
The evening descends into moonlight,
the floodlights are blinding.
A gorilla walks by,
entertaining the audience.
I move towards the musical black box,
ears ringing in anticipation.
Embracing the power of the waves,
jumping towards the heavens.