Theechointhecrowd
A sudden strain falls on the busy street, A ghost of sound, both bittersweet and sharp. It trips the rhythm of my walking feet, And plucks the strings of a long-silent harp.
I see the hallways of a high school noon, The restless fire, the dreams we used to wear Before we learned to hum a different tune, Or felt the weight of all the world’s despair.
The face of one whose name has slipped away, A brother-in-arms from years of long ago The stage lights’ glare, the summer’s wild display, Where we stood screaming in the front-row glow.
I taste the burn of spirits long since gone, A vintage label lost to shifting tides. The melody carries the ghost of that dawn, And all the secrets that the memory hides.
The world moves on, the charts begin to fade, New voices rise to claim the passing hour. But in this brief and accidental shade, The forgotten chorus regains its power
The song concludes, the city noise returns, The faces blur back into grey and white. But deep inside, a tiny ember burns, For who we were before we lost the light.
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