The chords of my past hum beneath my skin,
soft and steady, never quite gone.
A chorus of laughter drifts through the air—
familiar, distant, a song I still know.

A lone fiddle cries in the hush of dusk,
its melody tangled in time.
Cymbals once clashed in wild, bright bursts,
now their echoes fade, soft as a sigh.

But listen
a fanfare stirs, bold and bright,
a crescendo climbing, lifting me higher.
No elegy lingers, no decrescendo to hush me.
This song only swells.

Glissando slips between what was and what will be,
a duet of yesterday and tomorrow.
The ensemble of life gathers its voices,
some strong, some wavering,
all part of the same unshaken rhythm.

And when the coda finally comes,
I won’t fear its quiet refrain.
For every note I’ve ever played
will live in the music that carries me forward.