Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Songland

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.

5 comments

  1. mmmm, and sometimes it just stays... weaving in & out of your head all day ;)

    thea.
    xx

    ReplyDelete
  2. So true, the song "doesn't just evaporate".

    Like your use of all the "s" sounds and the repetition of "we summon them" at the end. And when the dream ends? ....

    ReplyDelete
  3. Well-crafted, detailed and quite interesting thought here: how lonely songs best express themselves when reunited with the the singer.

    ReplyDelete
  4. I feel like you plucked this from somewhere inside my head. You described it perfectly. xoxo

    ReplyDelete
  5. Oh, my, thanks for creating Songland. (I want to go to there.)

    ReplyDelete

The Storialist. All rights reserved. © Maira Gall.