I set my pen down
To watch the sunrise
Staring at me through folds of clouds
I glimpsed visions of my children
Dancing along the horizon
Like butterflies across the meadow
I felt a kind of humming
Deep within my chest
Made of baritone and brokenness
And soon, the realization set in
That my softly-beating heart
Was simply strumming at tight strings
Creating melodies of yesterday
Improvising the pain yet to come
And saving room for an encore
So, I picked my pen up
From the cedar-scented table
And once more, spilled my broken soul