Song

5 Comments

Tags:
  • Emotional
    • ,
  • Inspirational
    • ,
  • Fantasy

    Poem Commentary

    it started in a conversation with friends the first 2 lines.

    Song

     Words to charm the Devil's Smile.
    Sounds to sooth the Angel's Ire .
    Held in the hands of A child,
    Given to the world in the gift of song.

    Things we will never understand,
    Gifts we will always treasure.
    Something beyond the knowlage of the mind,
    Words spoken softly by the soul.

    Gifts given by the gods of old.
    A simple thing that sooths the ravaged Soul,
    Words beyond that which is spoken,
    Sounds beyond that which is heard.

    A Glimpse of simple perfection,
    In the blending of voice and sound.
    A symbol of hope,
    Even in the darkest hours.

    Raise once more your voice,
    And sing to me Blessed Angel.
    As you have before,
    As you do now,
    As I hope you always shall.

    Poem Comments

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    Chaos128 commented on Song

    07-12-2010

    Gifted singers of songs hold a high place in the pulic's admiration. the best of these are all but worshipped as recent events attest. Why is this so? It's as you say, one of those "Things we will never understand".
    Reply to Comment

    Troy

    08/11/2010

    music speaks to a part of us we will never understand i belive much like poetry and passion they are things that simply are

    WordSlinger commented on Song

    06-13-2010

    I love this, and yes it is nice, great poem Troy, thank you WS
    Reply to Comment

    mustascheman commented on Song

    05-17-2010

    A unique take on how 'music can sooth the savage beast' in all of us. Or at least that's what i got out of this write. Way to go!....Ya' had to go and make me think!!!! I hate that. Good job.
    Reply to Comment

    Troy

    05/18/2010

    lol sorry

    thecross commented on Song

    05-17-2010

    an uplifting and pleasant write, I feel this write leaves the reader with a satisfactory sense, nicely done.
    Reply to Comment

    Troy

    05/18/2010

    i am glad you enjoyed it

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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