All There Is

A poem, and it’s not about singing …

All There Is

I wasn’t old. But enough;
enough about years.
They pass to silence.
To sing. I knew;
pitch, phrase, breath.

All of it.

That day. No more or less.
A series of disasters.
I was too small.
So many other singers;
loud, laughing.  Ready.


To sing alone; the last.
Skin cold, breath tight,
failing heart shallow.
Far easier to fall.
Fear. Fear. Fear.


From the past; a gift.
A friend’s voice; still clear.
“You’ve been okay before.”
Freedom in that
to step forward.

I sang.
I sing.

Published by Rebecca Sowray

Living the ordinary dream. Words and music. Keeping the faith in all things local.

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