Wednesday, December 31, 2014

When My Voice Was Born

The stars were still waking the hour my voice was born.
The archer stretched her bowstring to the shadows
the hour my voice was born.
The trees were shaking off their leaves
and gifting all their colors to my voice.
The caverns of the sea filled with haunts of my voice.
The waters of Jerusalem & the Sea of Tranquility;
the dark flowing river of mother's hair;
father's nicotine fingers on the guitar line:
weaving the journey of my voice
the day my voice was born.
O my voice is early twilight;
O my voice knows the backstreets;
O my voice knows the blue highways;
O my voice knows the way to your house.
My voice soared with windmills along the sacred hills,
The echoing hills the resounding plains,
The day my voice was born.
My voice aims true whether it soars above the clouds
or dives behind the secret waves.
My voice aims true, gathers the fire of the spirit,
aims true, gathers the heavens.
My voice gathers the seven winds;
gathers the twilight hours;
gathers the seventy joyful sorrows;
gathers the elders & their childhood dreams.
My voice aims for your heart.
My voice longs to speak soul to soul
My voice longs to strike sparks in your hair.
My voice lingers at your ear
gentle & bold in equal measure.
That is why my voice was born.
My voice embraces the 64 colors and
the infinite tones of the aurora borealis.
My voice rejoices every minute
for the hour it was born.

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