Az Si Poet Free verse

The Choir

A tune rings in my head 
I sing it with silence in the crowd 
I hum it along a sigh in the morning hour 
I bleed my throat dry of it in the bathroom 
Her favourite song
And maybe I'm of bluer hue than I thought to be 
For it shows in the refused faces 
It shows in the wet pillows 
It shows in the bloody mirror 
It shows in all darned things gifted of reflection 
"Your Nail's not straight, your body's weird 
When you laugh it's not pleasant"
There was so much in and of me that they saw 
More than what I the host did not
Therefore I raised myself 
And learned to stay still 
Like a deer on the crosshair
Only difference.. I stayed in it for years. 
Now that I've grown better, now that I can pretend better 
I play pretend in the lonely places 
And allow it in my head only then 
It Floods back in highs and lows 
Notes and melodies on a butchered head 
And I cry the tune 
I cry.

Archive November 8'23

An aching meditation on memory and the wounds left by ordinary cruelty. Every remembered criticism hangs from the ceiling like a rusted chandelier, casting distorted shadows over the embodiment of consciousness of the muse. "The Tune" A sorrowful little thing in this poem. Like finding an old music box in the attic and discovering it still knows the song of a ghost from the past.

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