Songland
When the song ends
it doesn’t just evaporate
like frost from the lawn.
The song snakes away
from us, into the realm
of Songland. Brink of
evening or morning,
always, miles of pines
and riverbeds and
crosswalks. Songs
nestle in the branches,
strewn like crepe paper
in all the song-spaces.
No people here, the songs
feel lonely, they wait
for you to call them back.
When we sing, we summon
them. When we want to hear
them, we summon them,
and when they slither from
our throats or into our heads,
they think they must be
dreaming to feel so much
clear euphoria and love.
mmmm, and sometimes it just stays... weaving in & out of your head all day ;)
ReplyDeletethea.
xx
So true, the song "doesn't just evaporate".
ReplyDeleteLike your use of all the "s" sounds and the repetition of "we summon them" at the end. And when the dream ends? ....
Well-crafted, detailed and quite interesting thought here: how lonely songs best express themselves when reunited with the the singer.
ReplyDeleteI feel like you plucked this from somewhere inside my head. You described it perfectly. xoxo
ReplyDeleteOh, my, thanks for creating Songland. (I want to go to there.)
ReplyDelete