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gab 吉 May 2018
You are my "almost"
an "almost" that I'll never have,
but still hoping for you to
come back.
I guess,
I'll just be stucked,
with our favorite songs;
and soundtracks
that we had jammed —
together.
I was wrong.
This won't last...
forever.
adriana May 2018
you are the soundtrack to my life.
your breath is the rhythm to my walk.
your heartbeat is my refrain.
JAC Jun 2017
There is an inherent musicality
To your bare humanity
A soundtrack to what makes you human
There's a rhythm to your movements
There's harmony in your breathing
There are chords in your voice
There's​ a deliberate delicacy to your touch
As if you care deeply about an instrument
There's a tempo to the way you love
And notes in your laugh
And there are so, so many kinds of music
In your solo act.
Terra May 2017
I travel trough the heavy rain
I sit lonesome on a lonely train
I play blues
These days are grey,  these nights  are blue
my mind keeps coming back to you
I play the blues

I travel with desire
Past houses lit on fire
I play jazz
Windows lit by sundown
My train-seat old and rundown
I play jazz

Rainbow roads in colored blurr
Pretty little towns I'm sure
I play swing
Past mirror waves and open sky
My stomach tingles, wonder why I
Play swing

***** feet on ***** train
Skin so white I see my veins
I play punk
Impatient taps and flickering lights
Soon the day will turn to night
I play punk

Head in the clouds, mind at ease
Longing for the morning breeze
I play Pink Floyd
Memories hanging from branches
Passengers sharing brief glances
I play Pink Floyd

I'm coming home, I'm on my way, but I travel still...
I travel not by force... yet not by will
Music of choise as soundtrack to the silent film
beyond the windowsill
I wrote this as a little homage to my lonesome travels. I fittingly wrote it on a train during sundown, but it's about my memories as a homeless teenager with no idea what I wanted to do or where I wanted to go, just that I wanted to go somewhere and do something. It's also about that longing for someone I hadn't yet met, that empty space reserved for someone you know you'll eventuelly meet. Luckily, this time I was on my way home to that someone.
I imagine this poem as lyrics to a jazzy tune. Maybe I'll get to try it out one day. I'm no great singer, but I'm reserving space for a trumpet solo in there somewhere.
Ariel Hill Mar 2017
I found you/ a musical note
in a pond full of static
we made a soundtrack
that no one ever heard
drowned out by sirens
a gap that just widens
you were my unique find
I'd do anything for you
but stay
Miss Clofullia Nov 2016
You're listening to random radio stations,
on your way home,
Thinking this could be
the soundtrack of your day to day life..

A little bit of Cohen
and
some Cigarettes after ***
would easily do the trick.

You're just another unknown genius,
waiting to be discovered - an original copy of the "real deal".

Your parents must be very proud!
You have that look.. you know what I mean?
THAT look.

The ones surrounding you are nothing more than
Extras in your daily 7 o'clock show,
filmed in front of a live audience.

Your big break is just around the corner,
hiding in some bushes
and you must really feel smart right now,
with your old and wise attitude,
thinking 'bout the planet and
all that ****,
having the impression that you changed
something in this world,
on your way back from work..
something else than this rusty game
of useless words,
that the rest of your family doesn't really care about.
Your one man show is about to be moved in the better slot
and you'll finally get to stick your face on a Snickers' bar campaign.

"You're not you when you're happy!"

You'll get off soon.
Remember to smile and wave.
Remember to forget.
Just Melz Nov 2016
Throughout this soundtrack that I call my life,
       your heart is the beat,
          your voice is the lyrics,
   your soul is the slow and steady rhythm,
             your kisses are the chorus
       and your face is the album art.
Without you,
  I would never hear music the same again.
Don’t get me wrong, I looooove the sunshine.

I love the smell

the  t a s t e

the way it thaws my cheek bones and warms my shoulders

But, these rainy days instill something deeper, calmer, even 

everyone is home; wherever that may be 

going about their lives

listening to the same drizzly soundtrack
JR Rhine Jun 2016
We sat outside the coffee shop
next to a fire,
watching the sun set behind decrepit buildings.

I lamented over the lack of a roller rink in the area,
reflecting on memories of wobbling around in circles
with dizzying lights and blaring speakers
ejecting Pink, Daft Punk, and Eiffel 65 onto my critical youth.

I felt like a king.

We finished our smoothies and retreated
to an empty hotel parking lot,
where I taught her to skateboard.

One foot over the front bolts,
the back foot over two of the back bolts
but resting over the tail,
kick, push,
it's in the ***** of your feet--
weight distribution.

Tic, tac, scrape, thud--
she falls repeatedly
and gets back up.

I admire her resilience and perpetual smile--

This is what skateboarding is all about.

We roll around the hotel parking lot,
our endpoints being a lone luminescent lamppost
and a telephone pole beleaguered by a plot of shrubbery
that demarcates itself from the pavement.

We circle around the poles for hours,
forming an imaginary oblong track between the two,
our laughs carrying into the cool summer night lullaby
that sang the drowsy small town to sleep.

The fading throb of the wedding reception
at the bottom of the town square by the wharf,
carrying over to us.

The stores closed up hours ago,
silent empty windows reflecting the lonely streetlights
and our ambulance back at us.

We skated on unperturbed into the night hour.

A man walks outside the hotel
to have a cigarette on the sidewalk--
I imagine he is watching us and admiring our glee.

Rolling between this telephone pole and lamppost,
the glare and reflection of the empty silent windows,
the soundtrack singing above our heads,
our laughs, and the tic-tac of skateboards
and groaning of wheels over stubborn pavement
bringing my melancholic reverie to a halt,
recognizing and understanding happiness in the present moment--

This is my roller rink.
m j g Feb 2016
my thoughts are headphones left in someone's back pocket for too long // I've always wanted a pillow that said "home sweet home" but recently I realized I don't know where home is // I thought you were going to be my angel, but Lucifer was once an angel, too // there's a hose running into my lungs and I thought you were turning the water off but instead you were slowly trying to drown me // I never understood how you could love someone if all you loved was their body // you promised me gardens but you forgot to water them // you once told me you loved me but immediately took it back and I still wonder if you were joking or you really felt as strongly about me as I did for you // you asked me if I ever felt like ripping myself to pieces and I almost told you "every night since you left" but instead I quietly shook my head and said "no" // I won't ask you if you ever loved me because you'll never tell me the truth


-m. j. g.
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