Even at lower volume it resonates,
station to station, year to ear,
recounting mere memories. Beyond
weather forecasts and politics,
high school dance, an awkward kiss,
now gone amiss
to a never-ending soundtrack.
Owned by the soul
on spirit radio.
A Mother’s voice, a lover’s scent,
not where it was, but what it meant
and what you know.
Landscape crackles with the night,
You cannot negate the silence of
moments hardly since forgotten,
between volume and verse.
Sun-riddled afternoons, soft snow
in October, hailstorms in June, each
phase of the moon shines.
we lived, when they died, always
there, all along.
A soothing tone,
the ever-present comfort, we find
our past in melody, honesty,
and the lyric of a song.
© 2016 j.g. lewis
April is Poetry Month
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