My Cajon

A wooden box, a little seat.
That’s what others see.
But I see beat,
I see rhythm,
I see it as an organism.
It has feelings,
it’s alive,
Please no stealing
or I’ll strive
to get it back where it belongs,
without it I can’t go for long.
I love it, it is my star,
it brings back memories from afar,
From banging on pots and pans,
to playing drums in a band.
Banging it my hands will sting,
listening my ears will ring.
But honestly, I don’t really mind.
true happiness is hard to find.