it's not that the music wasn't good---
it was, it was so good,
rising up and ringing on the vaulted stone,
it pulled your soul right up through your heart
and let it hover there, tender, open,
overflowing---
it's just that in the spaces between phrases
i saw the people all around
and loved them
because their souls too were floating
like lilies on the green leaves of their hearts
i saw the boy with the nervous tic
gradually stop bobbing his head,
settling into stillness as long as the music
swelled about us
i saw the elderly man who gently patted
his chair in time with the beat,
and i saw his wife watching him
while he, self-forgetful,
closed his eyes and gave himself up
to the sound
i saw the young couple holding hands
as they listened
i saw the shine in others' eyes
i felt in mine
as if the music was bringing rain
to all the desert places in our hearts
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ashes, ashes...
some of the worst days come when we are nostalgic about something we never really had: true love, certainty, time... our memories hold false...
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some of the worst days come when we are nostalgic about something we never really had: true love, certainty, time... our memories hold false...
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baba yaga's home is the place you go when everything else has fallen apart tucked in twisty trees fenced with stacks of bones bone...
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"It is not so much light that falls over the world extended by your body its suffocating snow, as brightness, pouring itself out of you...
this is so beautiful <3
ReplyDeleteoh, thank you! that means a lot to me, coming from you.
DeleteYour words are so delicious and inviting. I could imagine myself there too. Thank you
ReplyDeletethank you for reading and commenting!
Delete