Monday, October 11, 2010

Hidden Song

Your walls are tall and built with brick.
Your defense is strong and words are quick.

I bend, break and pry for your sake.
I hear your croons and tunes you make.

Lured in like a passing sailor,
you capture me like a county jailer.

Your songs don't come from your voice,
rather deeper down when you made a choice.

God gave you a song, your life to live.
When you sing, you belong, your gift to give.

Your voice carries endeavor,
your mind, success to measure.

But you burden yourself with fearing failure of fame
and inflict yourself with undeserved blame.

Open your lips and feel the hardships fade away.