in a reel.
The projector dims and the lights go out.
Go where the road untangles and unfurls
by those cliff side views over those blue curls
lit only by those high beams off those white pearls.
Only sense of direction is the road ahead
no going back just only forwards instead
as going prevents drifting to the sea bed.
The white sea foam crashes amongst the shore
those high beams persist only for Salvadore
the light bends around the corner then no more.
The seaside below and its ebb and flow.
Silence where words would be,
ignorance where understanding should be,
apathy where love could be.
Hardest words to say, need to be said the most
Months have come and went,
time left and spent.
Moments of eternity and bliss,
here now to witness.
A blink as blue skies,
turn gray in old eyes.
Bells have began their knell,
and leaves have all but fell.
I long to live.
Tomorrow may be borrowed time
The wind blows
where does it go
nobody can know.
The river’s flow
topples like dominoes
through the meadow.
Out the window
of the small chateau
an old willow.
The soloist closes their eyes and leans in to play their instrument,
an intertwined movement as the musician and their tool becomes one.
An ever so subtle look of one who loves to that which is intimate,
knowing the sentiment that was formed now may never be undone.
The dance is bittersweet as the moment has already began to fade,
a beautiful sight with the undertones of a melancholic symphony.
Even though the house lights stayed a lit and the music swayed
the musician could see the end coming of this moment so vividly.
This temporary music spreads out into infinity,
where all is left is the memories.
Notes and undertones that almost approach divinity,
where all is left is the reveries.
The house lights went out, the soloist left gasping for air.
Every delicate sensation overwhelmed but they didn't care.
Our nights filled with dreams of music as it drifts quietly off into the night sky forming into stars.
Blackbird sitting on the windowsill,
out of the cage and still not knowing.
Trying to think of flying or staying still,
as not wanting to stay but no point in flying.
Blackbird looking out to the ground outside,
seeing other birds flying up, up and away.
Dreaming of a chance to break free and soar in the skies,
being grounded by the thought that today is not the day.
Today is not the day to fly,
fly with the pain of everything associated with departure.
Today is not the day to say goodbye,
goodbye to all the bad and the good whichever is harder.
Blackbird looking out the window and just hopin',
without realizing the window was open.
Do you clip your own wings?