I bought a broken song…

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I bought a song for the silent coin

in my pocket with no kin to

make its jingles with,

~ a wilted, stilted number

with a faded whimsy in its soul,

like autumn’s bronzed whisper

or a dove’s withered feather–

orphaned and forgotten,

dreaming of cloud-kissed flights.

 

It ailed with amnesia,

its lyrics like sepia reminiscences

of an octogenarian,

the words ambiguous, illegible

~letters written

on frosted windows in winter,

or pictures finger sketched

on wet ocean sands.

 

Its tune was an echo~

soft and tired,

after meandering through

the glens leading nowhere,

lingering on tongue’s tip

but too elusive to be voiced,

yet adamant enough

to refuse being recalled.

 

I tried to fill my sullen silences

with its somewhat rancid sweetness,

trying to hum its tattered lines

its vacuous pauses filled

with patch-worked words,

but meaning was lost

leaving minutes stained in

softly crooned gibberish.

 

I sang it with

a self-concocted panache,

as a lullaby to put worries to sleep,

make eyes of insomnia droop,

but the moon and stars

joined in the stilted chorus

to compose a nocturne,

eulogizing the night.

 

I gifted it to my beloved,

sprinkling flowery wording,

to adorn its sparse realms

filling colors of romance within

the insipid lines,

it blossomed with fragrance,

reincarnated as

the symphony of our love.

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