It’s not just for fame
doing what I do.
It’s so much more than that.
It’s getting up at the crack of dawn
when the stars are still sleeping
and the wind is stirring in its bed
with the woods so silent
in all of their lucid wonder.
It’s going to sing in the patched up barn
a mile away from my cozy home.
My voice is like milk and honey stirred just right;
none settled at the bottom,
but a perfect mixture.
Hot, cold, breathy, my voice,
it’s all in my throat.
The cork to my soul releases
and all the trapped butterflies
and perfect melodies
spill out in a beautiful
and determined way.
They demand to be heard and
to let the world know that they are there.
They kick and scream and slash
until they have all had their turn.
My voice cracks
and I know that my soul
has been released into the wild.
A sweet morning song
to slowly wake up life.
The leaves shake in the morning
and the creeks whisper quietly.
When the sun peeks above the horizon,
I know that my time is done.
It’s not just for fame
doing what I do.
It’s so much more than that.