17. SOMETHING OUT OF REACH

 

All the things I do not know

All the feels I do not feel 

What exists, but doesn’t show 

In what is real or isn’t real

 

They spin in circles, round and round

Like witches with their heads thrown back

Cackling without a sound

A swirling mess of black on black

 

Now and then I dip my toe

In waters treacherous and deep

Knowing that I cannot know

Accepting what I cannot keep

 

But trying, nonetheless, to tell

As life is sifting through my hand

If there’s a pearl inside a shell

That’s hiding underneath the sand

 

All the songs that go unborn

Lonely words without a rhyme

Aborted tunes without a form

Abandoned tones and keys and time

 

They pop like bubbles in my head 

They’re stuck below my vocal cords

They stay there sleeping in my bed 

When I get up to find the words

 

I dance with witches in the storm

I search for pearls along the beach

I sleep with songs without a form

To reach for something out of reach

 

This is a song. Or at least a melodic poem, with plenty of rhythm and rhyme. An A B song without a chorus.  I hear the music in my head. It is likely to remain there.