Flutes

Transported on a beat,
A song holding memories,
Unknown and forgotten,
With a drum or guitar strum return,
Flooding thoughts.

It captures more,
Returning a feeling more than thought,
Smells just out of grasp,
But there, vague traces,
Giving a sense of the moment remembered,

Colours in mind,
Belying the places they were held,
The music transports a feeling,
The touch of clothes worn,
Their warmth and softness,
The roughness of seams warn tightly,
Wrapping from icy breeze.

Sounds somehow captured,
The vocals transforming to
Pattering rain against the large windows,
Imagery obscured by the streams flowing,
Fogged up, and blurred,
Reflections of the high ceiling lights.

Other songs from the moment,
Rise in mind.
These were the fixations,
A salvation for coping.

Those hour journeys,
Just music and me,
No expectations to fulfill,
Helped to appreciate those moments,
Closed eyes, asleep to world,
A mindless yet peaceful existence.

Windows fogged up as pedestrians walk past,
depart or board,
Simple drawings in the fog,
A dream for youth,
A reluctance to abandon it.

The memories return,
The feelings of that time,
Stress and difficulty faded,
Just a sense of there and then,
An ever lasting moment in time,
Captured and saved in music.