Let loose were the strings that held down my heart.
Gone was the fabric that enclosed these speakers
That dared to blare out loud.
And so my heart sang songs so soulful,
To a tune so delectably delightful.

Yet a song sung
Is not always a song heard.
And a song sung
Is not always a song that should be heard.
But merely whispered in hushed tones to oneself
Under the solitary grasp of darkness

But nevertheless,
A song will always be a song
Regardless of whether it is sung
And thus, under the night sky
As I hum the words over
My heart plays, a silent symphony