The Heart races as a moth caught in tender hands,
The fluttering, hammering against cold damp palms.
Lost in an urban wilderness, an unfamiliar alien landscape,
A place of my own desire, following the call of something,
Distant, constant. A Pied Pipers song from miles away.
Drink to settle my nerves, no use against the rush,
Of the hot blood racing through unsuspecting veins.
No sounds heard now, ears too dumb to hear,
Numbed by the alcohol meant to soothe the nerves.
The door swings open, the sound checks start.
A doorway leading to an uncertain excitement,
A stamp for the collection of fond memories.
Find your seat and try to keep it in the dim lights,
Of the room with the stage, the set and the act.
Darker still, quiet down for the Siren about to start.
The release of all dreaded and unknown expectation.
Hands open, the moth escapes, climbing up
Into the soft and dulcet tones of the soothing melody,
Of voice and enchanted harmony. All doubts lost
As a boat of insecurity upon the flowing seas.
Each note, the words, the kind company of strangers
A joy for a restless soul abandoned by the host.
The minutes left, too short, too brief. Regret digs in.
A fond farewell, promises to be kept, a wave goodbye
Memories, foggy and lost from the drink that didn’t work.
The journey home, lost in the moment long past
Songs still buzzing in the ears of a familiar voice.
The sand that fills the eyes a reminder of the night spent,
And the rattle of the train as it rolls to the last stop.
The night that ended too soon, well worth the wait.