Music

A song is floating by. Restless, yearning, hoping for a voice. A pulse, a heartbeat of music, wandering, wandering.

And I hear it, I hear this little noiseless tune begging to be made. Hoping to have its phrases sung forth in glory and in sound. In love, in hate, in caring, in violence, it cares not which. Only let it be made, and save the consequences for afterwards.

A whisper in the wind, no more. The grand notes and soulful tune so easy to shrug away, to leave for later.

But I sing. For the sake of an unsung song.