Posted in art, poetry, writing

Moved

Moved  I wonder if music gets inside other people’s souls like it does mine, if it resonates as deeply, shifts their feelings, affects their physicality.   I breathe vibrations of melody into my whole being, evoking memories and sentiments, implanting dreams and fantasies, living lyrics in imagined movies, crying at all the right places, gullible to the director’s verse.   I become addicted to the story, listening on repeat, exhausting my ears, singing as I lose perspective on what’s real, living the performance, inventing nuances, dancing to drums, heart jolted by bass, the undercurrent  that holds it all together, rounding out sound with breath.   I hum the harmony, part of the choir, the life behind the necessities, so engaged in every element of the piece that I forget I’m sitting in the cafeteria at work, chewing.

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Poetry and music.

7 thoughts on “Moved

  1. Hi Leanne, thanks for this wonderful piece, I am similar, and always have music playing within my being, sometimes it comes out, and I sing it, which gets some fairly weird reactions from the public around me. I remember once being on the phone to a friend, with a Schubert piano trio being played loudly next door, and hearing my friends voice saying Charles you have stopped talking, you are singing! Best wishes and blessings Charles.

  2. I assure you that it does – and more – to the point where the music mustn’t be interrupted, for any reason. For this I am called many things; not the least of which is ‘rude’.
    I don’t care. If they had anything half as glorious to say as the music I’m listening to, I might be inclined to listen to them, as well…
    But they don’t…

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