Here I lay, on my back.
The soft grass kisses the underside of me.
I look up towards the sky,
I don’t see any stars,
The constellations have been boxed up,
They have been put away in a dusty closet somewhere.
Like me, they desire to be seen, and found.
They long to tell their stories, and share their hymns.
Yet, here I lay,
On the ground that is still frozen from winters breathe.
I don’t hear the spring birds chirping.
I don’t see them making nests for their young.
Like me, they are confident in the here, and now.
No rush to fly south.
Yet, I long to hear their songs and admire their flight.
I ponder getting up,
My body wet and my mind full of “I wish”.
You don’t see the light in my eyes.
Or listen to the records in my heart.
Your mind is filled with yesterday.
And I, a single chorus waiting to be played.