An Ear For Vibrations

It was the pulsations of her heart,
the flow of her blood,
the sound of oxygen exiting her lungs as it came to mine –
that was my first experience of sound,
of music.
The soft winter winds breeze through as the sun seeps through the blinds,
a spell of rest,
and quiet breath waking up my tired bones from slumber.
Before I open my eyes I hear it,
the sound of blood in his fingers as he pulls the guitar strings,
the vibrations travel from his fingertips as they make love to the strings and echoes through the room.
His vocal cords in tune with the earth’s gravitational pull,
like the ocean pulling me to the shore –
a rhythm that moves my very core.
When words failed me, music spoke.
It spoke of fear,
of pain,
of sorrow,
of violence,
of peace,
of loss.
It spoke of the life we live.
A mystical tapestry that no one knows of its origin and yet tethers are our souls across worlds,
a divine elusion woven across time and silence.

I hear it when that first-string hits as Ray Lamontagne whispers Winter Birds,
“The stream can't contain such the withering rain”,
indeed.
The vibrations of the train and its track awaken Passenger on his Ride To New York,
He said,
“I'm the wind I'm just blowing through”.
Unbeknownst Ben Howard’s Old Pine
“Careless and young,
free as the birds that fly
with weightless souls”,
guided the vibrations to all the lands,
both known and unknown.
“An anchor when in doubt,
an ocean when in drought”,
music is the Home Blue October painted.
The vibrations became music,
music became my soul,
the soft sounds of love,
my guiding light and it shall be the sound to my afterlife.

I have always had an ear for vibrations.