When words were lost to silence, music became my therapy.
Long before I spoke clearly again. I hummed along to the songs of the seventies. These were the ones that once filled my car, my memories, and my sense of self. Each melody seemed to awaken a piece of language buried deep within me. Music didn’t just bring comfort; it brought connection.
This poem is my story of how sound became my voice when speech could not.
The world went quiet, but the music played.
Soft whispers of the seventies, my familiar serenade.
I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t say,
But three chords and a memory led the way.
Familiar riffs lit a spark inside,
A forgotten rhythm where words hide.
I hummed along when no one was near,
Whispers of freedom only I hear.
They told me once, “Sing if you can’t speak,
A different part of your brain will peek.”
Not because I carried a tune so well,
But because music held magic no words tell.
So I drove, no place to go, no plan in mind,
Just me and my music, leaving silence behind.
Windows down, the wind in my hair,
Singing out loud without a single care.
Fleetwood Mac, The Eagles, The Rolling Stones
Old-time friends, familiar tones.
Every verse echoed deep in my soul,
Filling the gaps where the silence took hold.
I sang loud, I sang free,
Letting those long-lost words wash over me.
No one to judge, no one to stare,
Just the music reminding me it was still there.
Each note unlocked a door in my mind,
A piece of language I fought to find.
Driving aimlessly but never alone,
The road was my refuge, the songs my home.
Yet when I sang out where others see,
I faded, unsure, back to just being me.
Did they hear the strength that carried through,
Or only the doubt I thought they knew?
But alone, in my car, I felt so alive—
Words returning, helping me survive.
The music refused to let me go,
Teaching my mind what it used to know.
Every lyric felt like therapy in disguise,
Each melody a bridge my soul devised.
Science call it rhythm and rhyme,
But to me—it was healing, one song at a time.
I sang in whispers, I sang to the air,
Until words started meeting me halfway there.
The music reminded me who I’d been,
And gave me the courage to speak again.
Though my world was quiet, the melody stayed,
Teaching me slowly, note by note, day by day.
And as I sang, my words found a way
To come home, where they longed to stay.
Even now, many years have gone by,
The music still lifts me, helps me fly.
New songs come, but they can’t replace
The pieces of me in that old embrace.
They weren’t just music—they were my guide,
My words, my strength, forever by my side.
And someday, I can see it clearly:
Me at ninety-nine, with a song in my ear.
Humming along to those old-time tunes,
Wrapped in the warmth of familiar afternoons.
Because when the lyrics fade, the feeling remains—
Proof that healing doesn’t always speak in words.
Because when the lyrics fade, the feeling remains—
Proof that healing doesn’t always speak in words.
Music became part of my healing in ways I still struggle to explain. Over time, I discovered I wasn’t alone in that experience.
I reflected more on that journey in The Healing Power of Music and Lost Words, Found Strength.
