Oldies from my memory's number one hits
play so oft within my head,
on the juke box with buttons I can't control.
How much their tones burns deep inside
being a concert, dragging me beneath the day's joys,
comes as a dirge from my sonata of failings,
which I hear played seven days a week.
How I struggle to only remember the melodious moments
when my life's seemed so vast in possibilities,
a galaxy filled with shimmering dream stars,
which flooded my mind with a dance of light and hope,
their twinkle burning with visions,
stirring creativity's clever thoughts.
Was a flight on dulcet notes,
one lilting fantasy from the heart's instrument,
bearing a flame inside with a harmony
to touch my breath in a mesmerizing murmur
of confidence's rhapsody.
All faded, growing so dark and mute
during my maniacal obsessions to compose glory's serenade.
Their sounds, but whispers now,
shouted out by the music of regret.
It's records, I slowly replace,
when a new release from days of success
becomes my current cherished album
leaving it on replay,
until I forget the tunes that only lead to sobs.
Gold trophy winner
Adding your comment:
A brilliant line. 
and love
