Poem: Music Beyond Time

Music Beyond Time

He plays. A slight smile on his face,
like he hears something in the notes
we do not. A different magic
that comes from muscle memory,
fingers on frets, the swing of the bow,
the tension just so, magic
making music from wood, wire, and sinew.

He plays. A slight smile on my face,
the music bringing to mind a time
and a place far removed
from anything save memory.
Hands held, bodies leaning close,
the smell of perfume
in a strange land that feels like home.
Narrow streets and cafes and canals
calling you home with every note.

He plays.

About this song.

Inspired by the picture, which was taken at a Rennaisance Faire but makes me think of Venice in a time I never lived. But often feel like I do.

Imagination is a wonderful thing.



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