Muscle Poems

The truth he knows he speaks

And then humbly dips away

From it.

Then, left beyond a trace,

the quaking humility

In his voice.

For those whom are reached

He cannot handle the cacophony

Bringing harmony where it aches

The tones by which

He has no choice

But to speak within.

 

The Yearning in his face

As his own suffering,

Heartache and holiness

Stirs his quivering chin,

Calling upon and bearing

An angel’s authority.

Song bird

Light and soft

Like a romance in spring.

Your heart is Far off in the heavens

before it is tethered

By the voice that in my heart

Still sounds

While you take command in the present.

 

By my Song bird

Find your match

It is not you pretending.

Love will cost nothing,

Suffering is not defending.

Then the tones of ache, where do they go?

Love may come one day

And you will know.

By the tone.