The music that lingers in my mind when I awaken is the rhythm of a life of which I dream to live.
If I could get these symphonies unlocked from the rooms in which they reverberate and boom, I would finally be who I know I should be, but the rhythm's undone when I do come too; I'm only ever left with the conclusion that made my psyche break through- A conclusion without the question, a harmony without a melody, a melody without rhythm, a break without a build, a crescendo undeserved.
I carry with me back to consciousness no evidence of the brilliance observed; no tally or tale or the things seen and heard. But I know that I saw them; I know what I heard. I feel the rhythm inside me and I hear the words. I remember the beats and the lost melodies. Never-the-less... they are incomplete...
just like me.
A clip of a phrase left to rattle around. An earworm set to unheard sound.
"Dont be afraid to get too wild"
These dreams are the compositions of some other soul The music and musings of minds not my own but I wonder in the early morning grey,
Do the people that I dream to be also dream of being me?
I awoke from a dream and slowly came too with a rhythm and the words that broke through. And I am always so frustrated because there is no way to capture the song that I heard. And there never has been. I am no musical genius, but I know a good song when I hear one, And I hear a lot of music. Less now than before, but I still find myself hallucinating wild bebop jazz with trumpets and strings, big band ballad piano swings, deep house thumpers and jungle themes Heavy metal string burners And flamenco beats In my dreams they are full compositions, with layers and evolution and meaning. I just can't remember the words, and the music of mind is not the music of the world, so I have no means to recreate it. Mostly because I don't know where to begin. Because the inception of the song in reality or dream, is always a fugue of some other thing some music or rhythm that broke away from the meaning it has in the world and echoed until it became a song I heard.
Maybe when I die I'll get the lyrics sheet in heaven. That's the only heaven I want. The one with the words I lost in my sleep, And the music of my dreams and hallucinations. The soundtrack to my subconscious. It's something to be heard.