Art's Immortality

In silence, thoughts sound like screams. Burried in bed. Instead, fill my head with the oldies. Feeling alive with the dead. The sound of ghosts shepherding sleep. Spectered songs soothing the mind. Softened remains of seemingly simpler times. Fine tuned talents - time and space traveled. The troubles told in the past, tethered to it. Shackled. Nightly relapse. With relaxing residuals resulting in a shared Rest In Peace. To be gone, but never leave. Part of a future never seen. Lulled to sleep with melodies almost one hundred years away. With tired eyes, it fades. A release from reality. Cradled by songs from the 'good ol' days' Art's immortality.