There are songs, words, that soak so deep into my soul

Poppy Field, Knowlton

I take heart from those words, those songs and those who loved me… I count them like petals on a flower, like a field of poppies… and adore every silken petal

There are songs, words, that soak so deep into my soul that just replaying those in my head melt into my blood and heart like a warm cup of coffee on a frozen morning, abating that cold soaking into my bones and soul warming them immediately. Some I sing in the songs I love, some I have read from the stories that shaped me and others were said to me in the most earnest of tones, that whether true or false now they were true in that moment. The “I love you” and the “Im proud” mixed in with “If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster, And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken, Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools” and “Whenever you think or you believe or you know, you’re a lot of other people: but the moment you feel, you’re nobody-but-yourself.” All set to the transcending tones of songs such as Wonder by Chris Isaak, Blackbird by the Beatles, Love of my life by Queen and then shaken and rocked by some of the most lyrical poetry set to three chord power progressions that can only mean Rancid.
I can close my eyes and see every face as they gave me wonderful words, the warm hugs that followed and sometimes the tears. I can still place every memory with every song and speech. I replay those live concerts and the Sunday drives, listening to those tunes. In psychology they say that most memories and linked with a smell and they use that for people who have had any kind of cognitive loss. Yes I have memories of smells, but most of my best are linked to music, sometimes live, others sitting around the record player laughing with the family, and sometimes just the tone of voice held with emotion that words are said.
Sometimes on dark and sleepless nights I pull those hidden treasures from their little box and Listen to them caress them and let them run free for a while until I am finally tired and fall asleep holding them close to my heart, the balm the warm love that still exudes from those words, even if those that have uttered them have changed heart or are no longer occupants of this world. I take heart from those words, those songs and those who loved me… I count them like petals on a flower, like a field of poppies… and adore every silken petal

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