Morning Music

morning music gregoria green
(c) gregoria green; original photo by @hitoshi513

she could keep living like this
a queen in her own right
painting a vulgar picture of the world
alone in her corner full of records
recordings of the mind
early morning is now but a dream
let sleep be my only vice
as she holds her head high now
pulsating with life
and threading hope from sound to sound
it’s you and you alone inside her head
green tea scent she will recollect
for when the good days have passed
into mortality
apple and cinnamon fill up the kitchen
and the rain comes down shyly from a wide grey sky
to a ground ready to receive it with affection
at 8.37 am
her cortex becomes the clock machine
menacing, ticking into folly
leaking the passage of time
but she carelessly lets her washed hair down
and glances at the nude painting of her muse
hanging right above the turntable
a black and white magnum opus that would make a whore blush
with stories of loss to turn a man’s hair grey
smoke finds its way to your undying lips
but you remain still, lifeless and as beautiful as ever
she takes another drag on her cigarette
and pours more tea from the kettle
to keep her awake for when you come alive
like Pinocchio turned to boy
B side A side B side A side
the record is relentless
it knows nothing of the suffering
outside its tunes
like celestial bodies in a lovelorn universe
spinning sorrowfully
to give her what she wants:
mourning music
thus she becomes the boy
all inside a song
that never ends
never ends
ends

 

 

 

2 thoughts on “Morning Music

    1. Aww, thank you so much for your kind words. I’m really glad you found it touching 🙂

      It’s a bit funny that the poem was supposed to be about a happy memory or fantasy, but it turned out rather depressing. What’s your writing process like?

      Like

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