The Songbird

Are you broken-hearted?  Mend it with a song.
Sing one retaliating against how you’ve been done wrong,
Songbird your voice draws goose bumps, and tears.
Sing out loud using only your deepest wounds, and fears.
Sing by heart, be confident and proud
Sing in the shower, to yourself, or bravely to a crowd.
Lullaby yourself to sleep,
With soothing songs much peace you’ll reap.
Strong and beautiful, this voice in me
Soulful anguish will set you free
When expelled from your spirit lyrically.
Sing a song of sorrow for the little one inside,
For she remains twisted from insanity, still cutting, deprived.
Sing one jubilantly, of sunflowers and frogs
Then laugh so hard it hurts your sides until giggles become sobs.
Don’t be afraid to sing one hymn along with me,
About how life endured, strengthens our melody.
Whether acappella, country or the blues,
Let your raw emotion be the one to choose
Notice how we pick the songs that strum our broken hearts
It's only through revealing pain, that the healing starts.

Heidi Shavill
2013

I've heard mention,
of a choir of angels,
A myriad of angels,
acappella,
Sounding like a thunderous orchestra,
Singing unto the Almighty,
This concept I can understand,
An All-powerful creator,
Would require an amazing soundtrack,
Background vocals of creation,
Filling Him with whelming tears and pride,
Perhaps choking-back tears,
As word became light,
And heaven and earth were created.
I suppose again too,
Like any King,
He would have other court appointees,
A muse perhaps,
To inspire His creations,
A scribe to record His every breath, sigh and description,
At last a jester,
To amuse Him between acts,
A folly,
A clown.
I still exist,
Here, In the mortal realm,
To continue to make the Architect of the Universe,
Laugh His ******* *** off,
As I dance and perform silly tricks,
To amuse and distract Him,
from the serious business,
Of being God.

A tranquil silence presides as night arrives and the moon begins to shine
Wolves stand upon rocks in their thick grey locks and howl at twelve o’ clock
An immutable drip from the precipitation slips and splashes upon a surface
as does a tear that gracefully falls from the face with a purpose.
Leaves occasionally rustle amongst themselves and the grass giggles
The margins of my brain begin to echo eerily to the rhythm of nothing,
like an acappella that is performed by a tone deaf woodpecker with no beak.
Stargazer’s eyes become mystified as they stare at the sleeping sky
watching the sea of stars twinkle to the beat of dead space.
Crickets crick a hook like they are stuck on one being used as fishing bait
A streaming river in the distance whistles a soothing, harmonious lull,
and the biting wind whispers mellifluously just like a flute
As closed eyes listen to an orchestra perform like that of a church,
and midnight is when the service begins.

1 The zenith tempers warmth in hueful mist,
2 Of indigo splatters and crimson beams;
3 Wisps go flickering, zone of blossoms twist,
4 For art carnival of aesthetic creams.

5 Thee heart’s a-beating drunken symphony,
6 Conjures pure, shrill pounding acappella;
7 Cognating pulse on graceful melody,
8 An ensemble of forceful orchestra.

9 Thy sway tickles all dead integument,
10 Pressure’s on accord, feeble limbs awake;
11 Impulse enlivens every element,
12 An ecstatic cradle in every flake.

13 Nestle me lambent gal, don’t leave me be,
14 Thee orbs thou have enslaved wish not be free.