melissaahowells
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*memory can have its tricks
tie it to music and it becomes amplified...... the song brought me back to a small town peopled with familiar faces I found there those breathing and alive, no longer dead trees, streets, houses, neighborhoods... all of their intimate details sharply outlined animated and illuminated by a bold sun nothing like the one I'd seen before it left me haunted wanting more this song altered everything in its path like the wide sweep of a magician's arm the music's swath was the end of a magic trick I closed my eyes tightly as I listened quick and saw with pleasure the final big prestige the music did its trick with ease spreading like melting butter before me my little golden town warmed in the sparkling sun everyone alive and shining no problems apparent to me or to anyone the air magically kissed with a sort of excitement a fragrant electricity I felt the sting of the sweetest pang of sensitivity welling out from the center of me when, abruptly the song ended as the black needle caught in the groove the growling horizon darkened while billowing clouds overtook the mood the little town rolled in its carpets a strong wind swept through I saw the earth shudder and move and the streets pulled themselves in too soon my little town emptied itself of everyone and everything no more trees or streets, no houses or neighborhoods the magic simply ceased there wasn't even an echo not even a place for an echoing wood to remind me of what had been what had stood the memory now only exists for me in the distant fog of a dream only when I hear a certain song do I think I might remember and then I somehow I manage to forget it all again and every year a little more goes away. Copyright August 31 2016 written at 7:53am PST. ALL LEGAL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED TO THIS WORK, THIS SITE TITLE BY THIS AUTHOR Meloo/Melissa A. Howells Straight from Her Tilt-a-World. Vote for this poem |
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