Cigarette smoke twists and spins
its incense of burnt hour melodies
across vinyl hearts scratched with history and longing.
Yesterday felt like the top of the world
where psychedelic fantasies tricked the mind
into believing flesh would never succumb to brittle.
In the now, whatever, oh shit, of mirrors that are bold
with a valley of faces slammed into mortality,
reliving is an art form, starlight in cataract crystal balls.
With phoenix wings music drugs a new generation with its rebirth.
White haired sages pull magic from paper sleeves and
cardboard jackets to enchant ears with raw original.
Shadow selves reenergized by the bold hunger of new finding old
revisit the light flashes of hot summer life hung from music notes,
and spirit dance through faded photos seeing brilliant colors in the monochrome.
its incense of burnt hour melodies
across vinyl hearts scratched with history and longing.
where psychedelic fantasies tricked the mind
into believing flesh would never succumb to brittle.
with a valley of faces slammed into mortality,
reliving is an art form, starlight in cataract crystal balls.
With phoenix wings music drugs a new generation with its rebirth.
White haired sages pull magic from paper sleeves and
cardboard jackets to enchant ears with raw original.
Shadow selves reenergized by the bold hunger of new finding old
revisit the light flashes of hot summer life hung from music notes,
and spirit dance through faded photos seeing brilliant colors in the monochrome.
Comments
Paper sleeves and cardboard parts bring way back to paper dolls and cutout helps. More still though the relationships building from the play.
Relationships remembered need some hints and stimulation along the memory routes. It is nice to exchange those with acquaintances but some we wish kept to ourselves. Not secrets from spouses, I think most have them, but remembrances not shared.
..
the music along.
Happy you dropped by to read mine.
Much💖love
(I smiled at 'white-haired sages- - one can relate 😊.)
Yesterday felt like the top of the world
where psychedelic fantasies tricked the mind
into believing flesh would never succumb to brittle.
I can picture this time, a time of believing everything would be good forever; but it never is. I am so glad you shared this poem with us!
Pow! Such innocence! And we have brittle and mortality and monochrome--but some of the music lives and more is born. What a brilliant poem!
where psychedelic fantasies tricked the mind
into believing flesh would never succumb to brittle. - wow... I think we can all go back to a time when we believed this...and the music of our time.