Golden Daylight (Contemporary Pop-Soul Anthem) Muse: Michael Buble

I came down the ladder at forty, luggage worn, frown kept discreet.
A Queensland mate with sandy soles, a golden ticket and a clean sheet.
Bangkok’s hidden gates unlocked, making the bustling markets our goal.
Yearly escapes to Thailand have taught me the true art of traveling and living, young-old.

Through the pages I travel, each decade a room I once knew,
Present day washes in color while the past comes alive in vivid hues.
I keep my smile; I keep my distance from the carnival of speed,
Content to be present in this windowed room, where memory and daylight meet.

I lift a photograph and the room refracts into grainy black-and-white,
Seventies on a rooftop, denim and a record spinning slow and bright.
A sepia cut to the eighties—hair arranged with daring,
Tape players and bold prints, a laugh that filled a smaller room with light.
Nineties follow in a softer film, a CD player, The Golden Mile, Live bands & raves.
Exchanged superficial words for grounded truths that kept pace when the path turned ordinary.

Through the pages I travel, each decade a room I once knew,
Present day washes in color while the past comes alive in vivid hues.
I keep my smile; I keep my distance from the carnival of speed,
Content to be present in this windowed room, where memory and daylight meet.

The passage of time leaves behind no sorrow, but only the sweet imprint of our days,
Each keepsake marks where I've been, each photograph a gentle haven.
Unearthing a fragile postcard, the past feels gentle rather than demanding,
It offers me a portion of its light and leaves my present understanding.

Through the pages I traveled, and the present kept its gentle claim,
Color and memory interlace until they answer to the same name.
I smile without regret, at ease within this measured scene,
I am present to the daylight, and to all that I have been.

One final look at that younger gaze, then back to the street below,
A deep, contented intake of air — the city keeps its hurried show.
I let my hands relax; time is no adversary here,
With only a friend by the window, and a bright, clear future ahead.

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