Life and Love Poetry

alive again

Welcome back to live music.

She was real;
standing, swaying in the shadows
of a cobwebbed drum set.

No longer a voice from a blown-out Civic speaker;
my company at 10:57 p.m.
on an empty highway of many lives.

She was real;
in front of a storybook backdrop,
a fluorescent skeleton dancing.
The insanity of the moment
echoing through a muffled crowd.

And I was real too;
my toes arching on damp grass,
catching glimpses of drumstick flips
and swinging guitar strings.

I was real. I remembered I was real;
screaming into the sky,
pinpointing a place in the clouds where notes of songs
could float off to a hopeless place-
a place as far away as time past.

In that place, the clouds hang low-
over a pile of blankets in a closet,
down a desolate highway at 10:57 p.m.,
around skeletons of a life before-
they whisper:

Someday soon,
someday soon.

It will be real.
You will be real

By laurenstockam

Writer, average poet, lover of stories.

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