Graveyard of Dreams — NaPoWriMo Day #14 — a poem about music's power
It's not easy waking up in this graveyard of dreams,
everyday choking up black dirt with insects and mold,
knowing that somewhere beneath that cake of earth
there is a bright yellow canary buried in my throat.
Small but mighty in melody, that songbird still coos,
even after all the losses and the eulogies she's sung.
She's battered and needs some loving attention—
she's weakened and needs a dose of sunlight and air.
But she hears what she wants to hear
instead of what's really being said—
she sees what she wants to see
instead of all the tombs of the dead.
She hears the beat and the groove
and that funky bird can still move.
She can glide across the moon-bathed mausoleums
like her prince once writhed on a fiery purple stage
and her king once slid backward across the crescent's face.
The flames are lit and the phase is waxing,
so let's dance on out of this crumbling cemetery
and find solace in the reflected spotlight.
It still shines every single night
and this club never closes,
even when clouds obscure the shine.
Even when we have an etched date,
partygoers will still shake and quake in our name.
Music never dies, and neither will you and I.
Take that legacy, winged one.
Take your song to the sky.
Photo by: Hugues de BUYER-MIMEURE