I know that song...
Anon.
it weeps down his cheeks when he is alone
in his man cave or sitting on his throne
grinding his axe, confused how nought gets cut
from the rut of the world at large.
The needle goes round.
It makes a crackling sound.
Old fires forged inside decreasing lines of vinyl.
The final flickers of what once was
before magic left his land
inside bitter blasts of sand
that had once lain golden along an infinite horizon.
Shores a man could set his sights on and shoot at from the hip.
Today's bandwidth, he says, is unintelligible noise
Sung out by mealy-mouthed girls and boys
who have never even lived.
What can they give to an old lost soul
mined from coal, dragged indoors from the pit
who's survived on nought but his wit
back when only angels lived in the clouds
not emergent crowds of human consciousness.
I listen at the door
his riffs vibrating through the floor
muffled only by our nineteen eighties shag pile.
It's been a while since we have done anything new.
"Cup of tea?" I chirp into the dark beyond.
That sanctum where women do not belong.
*Silence*
The song clicks off, and the needle rises.
No, he says, and with no surprises, the pin drops again
to itch its way back to his melancholic vein
while he bleeds over what he has lost
and the cost to all of mankind.
I walk away and in my wake, the old crows croon
and I know that always and forever, it will be the same old tune
For there is only room in his heart for what he has lost
because
because
because
because
equality does not set a man free
and privilege can only see its oppression.
About the Creator
Caroline Jane
CJ lost the plot a long time ago. Now, she writes to explore where all paths lead, collecting crumbs of perspective as her pen travels. One day, she may have enough for a cake, which will, no doubt, be fruity.
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Compelling and original writing
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Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts6 days ago in Longevity
Comments (20)
Incredible work!!
AMAZING!!!! 🥰
This is beautiful, Caroline! Congratulations on a well-deserved Top Story!
Such resonance! Beautifully done.
Oh man, Caroline this blew me away. I relate to going into my cave and releasing emotional shrapnel through old tunes that break open my tear ducts. You are fabulous at conveying such deep and tender emotion. Well deserved Top Story..
Nice job!! Congratulations on TS🎉🥳🎉🥳
Congratulations on your top story! It's quite impressive!
Wow - reading this was such a vibrant and emotional journey! So many layers of meaning here. Amazing work! 😍
You know that Lady Gaga meme where she’s like “talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show-stopping, spectacular…” - that’s how I reacted after reading this piece. Wonderful words as always! 👏 👏
Congratulations on your TS.
Back to say congratulations on your Top Story! 🎉💖🎊🎉💖🎊
This was just dripping with moodiness and melancholia!! Loved it Caroline!! Congrats on Top Story!!
Loved your melancholy poem. Congratulations on Top Story!
The same old refrain, over and over again. Thought I'd be poetic and show my appreciation for your sad tale. Liked the idea of being stuck in a rut being repeated by the needle on the groove in the vinyl. Nice motif.
Congrats on the TS.
Gosh this was so poignant and emotional. I especially loved the melancholic vein!
This was powerful, Caroline. I loved the last line.
This one hits pretty hard ❤️
Incredible! The atmosphere you’ve crafted in this is so impressive!
I can picture him, hear the needle cracks on the old vinyl, and feel the old carpet. Really well done..and those last two lines, bang!