Sing
Written by Giselle Beaufort @ Becoming a Widow After Suicide
My garden is a symphony
harmonizing with the bees
Composer and conductor
air moving through a breeze
Flowers strumming colors
keep rhythm with the sun
Practiced wind picks up the chimes
in the background
Birds talking in the crowd
This is no ordinary symphony
Do you hear it
whisper now
Air reaches out to find me
Sun crescendo warms my feet
No greater sound exists or can exist
nature’s never-ending prose
My garden is a symphony
Layered perfectly together
A masterful collage of senses
Do you hear it whisper now?
Machinery, a misplaced sound
takes first percussion chair
I don’t mind at all
The disturbance plays its chord
I am here amongst the music
of this ordinary song
on this porch beside a garden
Hydrangeas dancing in the moon
Muhly grass not bloomed
Blue Enchantress singing
Tiny buds on sun slouched stems
Allium with patience wait
It’s not their turn to sing
Airplanes flying low
reminders of those moments
His eyes gazed at skies above
then said the things he saw
Perhaps nobody heard
No matter
Words spoken for himself
A reassurance to the universe
this thing was safe
A reminder to himself
He was no longer at war
I don’t think he heard the symphony
He only heard the battlefields
Does he hear it now, I wonder
Is it his turn to sing?
These are the moments
inside the movements of a life
This is the symphony we cannot hear
when we forget to stop
to listen
worse
when stolen while at war
This is the opus playing
against discordant sounds of sorrow’s heart
This, my friend, is life
It is your turn to sing
Text © Giselle Beaufort
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2 Responses to “Sing”
Such a beautiful poem.
Beautiful.