Chirp cheep cheep.
Mother blue jay sets down and sings to me.
Singing a tune she's sung since birth.
I realize it's beautiful,
it's a song of the earth.
For the blue jay does not worry,
she comes and she goes.
The next phase of life,
she'll figure it out as she goes.
Maybe the blue jay has something to teach.
Something only mother nature can preach.
Time and tribulations can take care of themselves.
So take your worries,
and set them on the back shelf.
Sing a song,
as the blue jay does.
And sing a tune to yourself,
not for anyone else,
but just because.

Glory! Hear the voices of the Queen

Embrace...
The warmth hidden and exposed,
The laughter and power within.

At long last! Hear the voice.

Allow her to take you to the land within, the soul without,
To the mythical energy that bonds you as one
As her vibrations bring you back to life.

Watch her.
As her soul floats into the universe
Dragging what is without in you to a place of serenity.
Listen to the sounds of what is your divine intervention.

Do not ask but feel,
This heave,
As your eyes burn red.

Embrace this sound as she has freed you.
Nubian voice!
At long last!

You listen to music for the music, and I listen to music for the lyrics.

And that is the difference between us.

You get caught up in the intertwining of chords and harmonies and sound, while I get caught up in the story and the meaning of the song.

You get so excited when you hear a new song because of how it makes you feel, and this is why I listen to the lyrics, because I love that about you.

I need a song to put my thoughts into words.
I need a song to explain how I'm feeling, when maybe I can't get the point across myself.
I need something to express my emotion and my longing.
I need you to know how I feel.
I need you to start listening to the lyrics.

An angel was born,
On this very day,
But before his time,
He was taken away,
With his beautiful voice,
He would always serenade,
Crawling, Heavy,
Final Masquerade,
These among many,
Were anthems that he sang,
For which he is remembered,
And which he sings in heaven again.

My dad told me I shouldn’t sing
Because I didn’t have a musical voice.
So, of course, I felt I had to go
Prove him wrong. I didn’t have a choice.
You see, I knew for sure
From the early age of about ten years
That I was winning contests
And on stage getting lots of cheers.

First it was contests at fairs
And later it was in shows and events
At school, at church and some
Even took place in huge revival tents.
But he never spoke of these
Because he was seldom ever there.
He was either working late
Or home in his favorite big easy chair.

It would be years before I found
It was my actual voice he didn’t enjoy.
At first is was because I was young
And had the flutey piping sound of boy.
I chalked it up to style or poise,
But later, when I grew to be a tenor
I never had that manly sound.
High voiced men were automatically sinners.

So, I kept on singing, in night clubs
And plays and little theater around town
And got my applause from strangers
Because my father always let me down.
As you can probably tell from this
That betrayal still bothers me a little bit.
Sometimes words can hurt as much
As a drawing back and delivering a hit.

i dreamed about falling

off a chair in the church where

i heard you sing for

the first time and

it was the first time

i made you laugh

after a million years

i woke up

with a plum tree in my chest

with the touch of a finger you plucked a purple

planet off a branch

a world where we end up together

and bit out the part where we met

along with some other things

it hurt so much

i could have sworn

i heard you singing

There's a ghost in my room
That sings me to sleep
Whispering in my ear
A sweet symphony

With a simple melody
That has a heart mending remedy
But the words that it sings
I can't remember for the life of me

The voice is familiar
But can't put it to a face
I remember something similar
When my mind was in a better state

All I can hope
Is that it never leaves
Because if it were to depart
I don't know how I would sleep

Fitful rest in the place of slumber
A jolted start
Lulled by darkness
It was too early
It was too late
The night was dark
Then, I heard it in the distance:
An unidentified voice

Sweet, silver song sung
Solitude in solemn shadow
I could not identify the singer
Neither male nor female

Peculiar voice in a peculiar morning
An hour past midnight
I did hear the song
And then something caught my fear
I hath been taken by the ear

Were they a Siren of a tarred river
Flowing through a small town
Tempting me to the street
And turn me into a meal sweet
Or perhaps a Banshee
Irish crying, sobbing,
Mistaken for a singer
When they are a harbinger

Distant, faint,
And indescribable
Words and babble
But a song nonetheless
But a lullaby nonetheless