.~**~.
The devious angelical mind,
Supersedes them all.
He is the player, he is the audience,
Of melodies from time bygone.
He orchestrates these memories, eerily delicate,
Each note symbolising a word.
A word said, a word heard, a word held back.
And each tune, symbolising a person.
Someone lost, whom the world has forgotten;
Someone found, who made you forget the world.
And when the silence sits on the throne of night,
These melodies come in an endless loop
Of happiness, of grief, of hope, of gratitude.
For the tunes of some masterpieces
Are lost forever, irredeemable.
But hiding beneath the dusty floorboards
Of a once inhabited house,
The dustcoated cassets still remain
With the voice just the same,
The sound just the same.
.~**~.
Thank you for reading!!! Please VOTE and follow me on Instagram for more poetry ❤❤❤
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Cottage Chronicles
PoesíaLife's chronicles from love, sorrow, anger, guilt, shame, happiness buried in a poetic cipher. Would you like some words and wine, on wooden floorboards? ©️ Feronia Grey
