Do you hear the melodies of notes arranged in time?
The counting beat and rhythm flowing with the words in rhyme?
Even over other noise it can not be ignored,
I don’t create, by mystery’s hand it’s written, played and scored.
Relentless in composing, a symphony inside.
It’s been with me since breath began within my soul resides.
It feels a false to take the praise when to me it’s afforded,
but how do I explain the truth ‘it’s him who should be lauded?'
In days gone by I stole his work I twisted it for gain.
It led me down a path of hurt of brokenness and pain.
I thought the way, my truth and light was standing on the stage.
But rising up from rubble brought a turning of the page.
I hated him. I shut his mouth. I cast him from within.
I blamed his songs and promised dream for every single sin.
Guitars returned to cases hard and hidden in the cupboard.
Every time he looked for breath I held him down and smothered.
I combed my hair and shaved my chin I wore a shirt and tie.
I knuckled down, I saved my dimes, a whole new life to buy.
Don’t misunderstand me, I’m grateful for the change.
I live in love and blessing deep in wonder sweet and strange.
But never would the music stop. Never is he silent.
I fought him hard and wrestled foul, bitter, strong and violent.
Time brings deeper wisdom, I see him now and know;
It wasn’t him who led astray it was my own ego.
The dream was mine and born from pride and wanting adoration.
It may seem weird but him and I had inner conversation.
I now forgive, I understand I wrongly pointed blame.
And as a gift for changing heart he offered me his name.
“I am your voice, your deeper mind the keeper of your quest.
I don’t ask much for fuel or food just time to be expressed.
When all are born they’re given gifts, abilities and purpose,
we must be heard and given faith to rise up to the surface.”
“You don’t need wealth or clapping hands to give is more in line.
With my words and rhythms, just express the great divine.”
So now I understand him, and respect him as a friend.
I don’t know where it goes from here or where this story ends.
For now I’ll write my simple rhymes of little things I know.
I’m nothing of a Shakespeare or an Edgar Allan Poe.
But when he speaks I’ll give him time, a breath to have his say,
and come the years of learning more perhaps I’ll find my way.
Gold trophy winner
Adding your comment:
Let you soul sing
