08-20-2015, 11:11 PM
The tear that crawls upon my cheek
feels wet and colder than my skin.
It salts my lips in falling and tastes new to me.
No dewy drops have ever run before;
when music played, I listened and I heard,
but felt no change, no heightened state,
no deep regrets.
Why now? When music plays-old tunes, old words-
I know I’ve found emotion's seat.
In truth this briny essence seeps
and weeps those thoughts I once thought dead.
Yet wickedly, at this late hour, in angst I find
that memories are saved and salted, preserved
within my mind.
In me there lives a thought new born.
I hold it tenderly, for it is a mewling child.
This infant sentience, part of me,
is never happy, always sad; yet fittingly,
it seems.
A paradox, maybe… I smile through tears;
a nitrous oxide moment, in a mirrored glimpse
of half-formed, former dreams.
I now see how it is and how it might have been.
The music lifts me high above my mortal form,
my soul is gently raised , then taut becomes
the saving Silver Cord.
How sweet the honeyed baritone,
smooth and sure of pitch.
The minor keys drift distantly,
but somehow match —then fit—
my played-out, mixed up memories of those useless,
youthful years.
In outline I remember many things,
yet not the things themselves,
just the bonded tight emotions...
While “Some Enchanted Evening” plays
I sink into my chair of dreams
and open up the locks that held.
Out pours the raw emotions
from all those egos I have been,
yet never truly was. How can it be
that music played my life...but all I was
became an old, old song?
tectak2010
feels wet and colder than my skin.
It salts my lips in falling and tastes new to me.
No dewy drops have ever run before;
when music played, I listened and I heard,
but felt no change, no heightened state,
no deep regrets.
Why now? When music plays-old tunes, old words-
I know I’ve found emotion's seat.
In truth this briny essence seeps
and weeps those thoughts I once thought dead.
Yet wickedly, at this late hour, in angst I find
that memories are saved and salted, preserved
within my mind.
In me there lives a thought new born.
I hold it tenderly, for it is a mewling child.
This infant sentience, part of me,
is never happy, always sad; yet fittingly,
it seems.
A paradox, maybe… I smile through tears;
a nitrous oxide moment, in a mirrored glimpse
of half-formed, former dreams.
I now see how it is and how it might have been.
The music lifts me high above my mortal form,
my soul is gently raised , then taut becomes
the saving Silver Cord.
How sweet the honeyed baritone,
smooth and sure of pitch.
The minor keys drift distantly,
but somehow match —then fit—
my played-out, mixed up memories of those useless,
youthful years.
In outline I remember many things,
yet not the things themselves,
just the bonded tight emotions...
While “Some Enchanted Evening” plays
I sink into my chair of dreams
and open up the locks that held.
Out pours the raw emotions
from all those egos I have been,
yet never truly was. How can it be
that music played my life...but all I was
became an old, old song?
tectak2010