Song

you sing with someone,

you sing with yourself,

you sing for the song

that makes you want to sing;

and I wonder why

I cannot feel the joy

that you are feeling,

and then I realise

that what I want to feel

is not the joy of listening to you sing,

but the ecstasy in the melancholy –

you know that feeling

when you wake up at five,

draw the curtains,

and open the doors

to let another beautiful day in,

and you hear a little bird

sitting atop some far away tree

whistling to the sun

and the sleeping stars,

and to you in your own universe,

and you feel you are the chosen one

so privileged to hear that song?

I want to feel that,

I want to feel your voice

merge and quiver with my own

in my beating chest,

untouched by the distractions

of an ordinary day,

like the last note in a sequence

that stands alone

and dies into the silence;

I want to know how it feels

to be in that space between

the singer and the audience,

and I want to know

how blessed I would feel

to be both.