The Song That Is Mine

[Brock and I at the coffeehouse in the 80's]

I have always
been a singer.
When I was young
I sang
the whole day long.
Biking along
country roads,
mile after mile,  
song after song    
of hope,
of broken dreams,
I was
singing
as I pedalled
all the while,
singing songs
of dreams
I longed
to have
come true,
both happy songs
and blue.
Washing dishes
cleaning the house,
raising my kids,
all those years
I was
singing
every song
I ever knew

In my little house
full of children
when I was young,
I sang to them
each day
as they were waking,
songs for the joy
of being alive,
for the
early morning
breaking,
for  love and pain,
hearts broken
again and again,
there was not
one song
I ever
left
unsung

Now I look back
at those years
that will never
come again,
those busy years
so full
of every single thing 
Years when
I sang a song
so full of life
in all its
joy and pain
its toil and strife,
that song
had words
only
my heart
could bring

In the coffeehouse
I longed to
set my music
free
when the others sang
I sang too,
silently,
as stubborn
as a moose;
the music
was right there,
but with an ache
in my throat
I could not
let it loose,
just could not share
for I was shy,
earthbound
yet staring at
the sky,
and longing 
with all my heart
to fly

I am older now.
I dont sing  often
any more
but when
John Lennon
is on
I can't hold back.
Now that my voice
is gone to gravel
and all cracked,
I tilt my head
and wail
to the music's track.
I sound
like a coyote
as we howl
along
to "Mother",
we Imagine
this world better,
imagine it other,
we Give Peace another
Chance
and, alone,
it turns out
my feet
still do
remember
how to dance

When I walk on the beach
my heart still sings
within
to the music
of the waves
where my
fondest
memories
begin,
those golden years
that the universe
gifted me,
the melody
my soul's
truest song
of when I lived
there
where my
spirit
most 
belongs

It is a quieter song
I sing
these days
alone,
rich with
nostalgia,
memory
aged like
fine wine.
I am tired,
but my heart
still
lifts and flies
on the wings
of the music
from those
not-so-long-gone
years
when I was young,
my dreams 
still  beckoning,
when,
every day,
no matter
what life
was to bring,
I was singing
the song that
was
my song - 
for it was mine
and only mine
to sing.