Sitting alone in an
empty house
a lonely guitar and
smoky voice
takes my hand and leads
me down forbidden paths,
shows me an album
of memories
pulled out of
yesterday into today,
it’s no dream, it’s
a real as the goosebumps on my skin,
and it’s hot, your
touch commanding,
I’m enslaved to
this moment,
to these visions
neither time nor distance can eradicate.
Amazing visual your prose (and talent) creates, once again. Have a terrific weekend Ms. V
ReplyDeleteMusic is a blessing for and from the Soul ~ lovely photography and post ~
ReplyDeleteHappy Thanksgiving to you,
A ShutterBug Explores,
aka (A Creative Harbor)
I have 2 lonely guitars (6 string and 12 string) gathering dust in my house, friend Shadow and 3 lonely flutes doing the same (c and b and transverse)… Haven't touched them in 34 years after Jenny's death I turned silent/ violently tearful … which ever comes first ... Son Paul is my reincarnation … You promised to send your son's musical aspirations … Am patiently waiting … smiles … Much love, cat.
ReplyDeleteWhen one has that album of memories, every touch can be hot and commanding.
ReplyDeleteThis brings back my memories, too.
Charlee: "We could sing along with you!"
ReplyDeleteChaplin: "We don't have smoky voices, though."
Charlee: "Maybe you don't, but Dada says I have kind of a raspy voice."
Chaplin: "Like Demi Meower?"
Charlee: "Who?"
Chaplin: "Never mind."
those are some really lovely and painful words. The pain of longing is very well described :)
ReplyDelete