I have heard a song
That touches my heart
It is soft, quiet
Caring and still
In the silence of the world
It reminds me of the past
And how it never seems to last,
Because too often things fade away,
Too often our voices wander astray,
Too little we know of the day
Where our dreams and hopes
Have gone their way
The song is fleeting
And it is wishing;
It carries a rhythm:
Of heartbeats
And the space between
Yet the world is kind,
I will not sing the song alone.
My story is not the only one to be told—
For the world is understanding,
And it is fair,
It presents to me
Apples and care.
So let us sing;
Let us dance;
The world is too forgiving
To be wasted on chance,
So wander,
So try,
There is no bird better
Than a bird that can fly.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of the Broken
PoetryThere are voices that cannot be drowned, and writings that cannot be burned. That is because they have found worse and have slowly learned. And this is true. From them, comes the Collection of the Broken.