I keep coming back to the same melody, like the one in this piece that just poured out. So today, armed with what are now eight verses, I will work on the song and whittle it down to two or three verses once the music bed is laid. I haven’t had a song knock this hard on my brain door in some time. Then again, I’ve never gone this long without singing. What a strange few years this has been, navigating the pandemic and trying to come to terms with who I am, what I want out of life, and what no longer fits my self-actualization as an independent thinker and artist.

Sing Along

I searched epochs for a muse
like you, the pen sequences
from this hand. Fits.
Natural patterns move,
send nurturance along a thread,
rebuild the scaffold skeletonic
comprehension.
I love you, too.

We’ve no control. Intolerance is
worry fortified by stress, we
targets show resilience; our childly
needs were never met.
Encouragement spurred
from bereavement, celebrated
those achievements acted on
behalf of their own neglect.

My heartstrings tighten, tune
the songs that mourn rejection,
search the faults for reassurance
from the past, scrolling ghosts,
and casting shadows
on the places where love reigned,
cut off the arms that shouldered
blame. You fills the pages
where your mark is honored
in a future song.
I hope you’ll sing along
I hope you’ll sing along
I hope you’ll sing along