So many people become lyrics of songs and lines of poetry, but will never know; our world is full of the ghosts of unspoken words and memories.
So many things become objects of the past that sit on a dusty shelf in the corner of a room which gets little light. Things that we forgot we ever had.
Memories we forgot we ever possessed.
Lyrics that embrace our soul with every filling letter that once was their firm grip.
Sentences and quotes from unknown passages align with our emotions to create a figment of their body through our imagination.
The soft clicking of the keyboard echos throughout the room igniting the flames of fusion and ingenious flames balling into a symphony.
A description defining the crease just above your brow.
The piercing eyes that caused my symphony of words to go higher than a C.
No electric device could recreate the eternal shock your touch planted throughout my body.
So many crucifixes streamed with roses and carnations with broken seashells trying to spell out a lost name that will be scorched away by the basking sun and an empty road.
I like the line, "So many things become objects of the past that sit on a dusty shelf in the corner of a room which gets little light." Love the imagery and the juicy descriptions you have. Well done!
ReplyDelete'So many people become lyrics of songs and lines of poetry, but will never know'
ReplyDeleteAmazing. And yes. I shudder to think of if all the people I have wrote poems and songs about knew.