When the first few notes are sounded
the tune recognized, recalled
memory stands its post
then transports the listener
to the first place heard
And the words, if there are any
point elsewhere, to storehouses
where ideas are locked in the keep
cataloged and sorted
by title, date and author
The tune or the words
travel corridors of mind
bumping neurons
touching familiar edges:
Ah, that!
Until one day
the same sound that once captivated
becomes its own distraction
and we gasp for freedom
from such pleasure become master
vitalwholeness 
Fantastic. Your best verse yet. Oh that all of us would could recognize the prison of our memories. Especially with hymns and our worship experience
Your poems are always my favorites among your writings. I will print this one out and include it in my journal.
“The First Few Notes” provides reason and understanding to why I rarely choose to play the piano or organ anymore and don’t really enjoy hearing music in the background while with friends or even during the day when I am alone. Too many memories. . . old life. Always seemed strange to me; I assumed the music would have a different place in the new time.