Sounds cavort with the dusty air
The smell of vinyl and sweat linger
buried deep in this musical lair,
this dingy record store.
in a distorted memory I share.
A rainbow of sounds,
different notes in all new colours.
Distortion adds texture
lke musical paint
over my greyscale eyes.
I let the names wash over me,
images flashing,
guitar smashing clash calling.
I see a sea of records
and I want to explore.
I want to explore moments
when I was a child,
I heard the strains
of sad 80s refrains,
melancholy mind meanders
over those missing minutes.
Barely catching brief snippets.
Tunes momentarily etched
inside of me.
Then gone.
Memories of different ages beside fallen trees.
I hear echoes of woes and saddened days.
I hear the Motown tunes that would often play.
I hear my own soundtrack start to blare out.
As my teenage self,
all long hair, green no doubt.
walks beside me checking
the cd shelves.
The grunge
and grinding
punk vibes for other times.
Visions etched into my eyes
when played out loud.
Songs that now
have their own all new stories attached.
Love, hurt, hope, loss.
All stuck to those songs
like chewing gum
on the seat of a bus.
I remember when
the music died, then
died and died again,
and has done
all too frequently.
Taken too soon.
that feeling dawning.
Good things don't survive.
So, embrace them
whilst they are alive,
and live on the songs
that take on a new life
after the moments
have been mourned
and eyes have all cried.
Thanks for reading
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