Thursday, 28 July 2011

The Sound of Alone

The drip of a tap
A flush from upstairs
The passing of years
Like the tick of the time

The sound of alarms
Microwave dings
And lukewarm water
Showering down
On a morning soul

The press of a remote control
Reluctant under the thumb
The silence of mute
The hum of the fridge
And all the other things you know
Pitch perfect

Like that creak of the door
And the groan of the floor
And that mattress
That knows you so well
It sighs under the weight
Of your dreams

Now, do you remember your dreams?
Like the chair remembers
Your bends
And dents accordingly

Recite them, please
Those whispers of verses
That itch for release
And the twitch of desires
That hide underneath

Will you simply turn the volume up
And drown them out
Like you drowned the floor in clothes
That your heart was too heavy to fill?

Empty their contents
Into greedy ears
And voice them!
Savour them on your tongue
And then spit them into life!

For it is night
And the cars outside are nearly still
And the streets are drunk
In revelling
And there is music
Oh, there is so much music
Embedded
In the back of your throat

Can you taste each note?

Sing them out loud
But don't commit them to page
For the words won't stick down
They will float away

Like your memory
Of this feeling
When you awake
To the drip of the tap
And the warm of the shower
And the mind of the gap
And the rush of the hour

2 comments:

  1. "The silence of mute / The hum of the fridge / And all the other things you know / Pitch perfect" is great; not sure that the word "microwave" has any place in serious lyric, though...

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thanks James!

    I agree about the microwave. That's the problem with late-night free-writing. I actually did start writing it after hearing the microwave "ding". It will go if I redraft...

    ReplyDelete

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