Happy am I for a song to sing
A small song
Caught upon the wings of the air
Alighting
To be heard by anyone,
Everyone, or no one but myself.
A soul.
A song
That I thrust into the open air-
Let the air take it and make of it what it will.
A bit of laughter,
A streak of tears,
A dark smudge of fear,
A weight of regret;
Knotted notes
Set free.
Redeemed.
So it's my song. It is me. It is my past, my hopes of what may be.
A passing ditty perhaps:
pulsing frail, screaming hilarity,
the soft repose of purging fullness
that otherwise had it not been released
possessed the strength to strangle the insides that gave it birth.
Sing!
Sing! Little bird-
The Wind whispered in my ear
Becoming stormclouds beneath my wings
Shuddering, gathering up
Giving flight
and the expanse of blue to call Home.
** A little poem for NaPoMo. Make of it what you will, but do this one thing for me in exchange for looking at scraps of my soul: sing. Sing and find the free joy He has for you.
Sing your song, little sparrow. Wind carries music where it will-- your song is necessary.
Ann Voskamp and SheSpeaks conference are offering a scholarship,
A Holy Experience, an opportunity to learn the tune to the songs we have to sing.
About Me
- AlyMae
- Vintage Wisdom I inherited my Aunt Lucille's journals. My mom, her younger sister, thought that I'd enjoy them and find inspiration for my writing. The first of these journals is dated 1927. She filled the pages with the writings of musicians, ancient Chinese poets, anecdotes from magazines and excerpts from fiction. Sprinkled throughout, but hard to find, are Lucille's own thoughts. The ideas she committed to paper, decades ago, meant something to her. They mean something to me now. They connect me to a family member I never knew but they also reveal that when a thing, or a person, or a song or a moment is meaningful, it is also lasting. Each entry we'll explore and ponder and take away truth from a selected quote from my aunt's journals and drink deeply some vintage wisdom.
