... (remini_scent) wrote in _thebigpicture,


Night's silence
Music sings from an ancient record full of dust
A wrenching heart drifts
Dances to the rise and fall of the notes' breaths
So fragile, as if with a sudden echo
These unwritten melodies just might become lost forever
Admist the silence

But oh, where is my voice
That once resonating vibration against
The dryness in my throat
Reviving these pent up pieces of dreams
But only for moments
Where is that voice with which I
Scribbled countless words unsaid
Into the cold and empty air
Only to be erased and rewritten again

If songs were memories
I'd write a million of them
Ones of happiness and of tragedy
And bury them for eternity
In the listening silence of the room
But never so close, so threateningly near
That I could reach out and touch them
Inside of me
Then I'd destroy these songs I've written with my own soul
So that I might have my voice back
Not choked in the remnants of remembrances' sorrow

I wept for the lost voice that once composed of me
Sighing, still sighing
As the record repeats itself once more
Yet again my voice lingered in the safety of my larynx
Its stories unsung
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