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While looking for something, I found a couple of writings that created sometime within the last couple of years that I never posted. So here is the first one of two.


A lone voice sings out into

the vast darkness of night.

Pure . . . like snow falling

on an early Sunday morn.

Clear . . . as the intentions

of a small child.

Sad . . . near to the loss

of innocence, reflected in a young girl’s eyes.

(Can you hear the song?)

The song is of hope and pain,

of love and sorrow.

It is a song sung within

all of our souls.

Yet a song that shall not 

be heard by any other.

The vessel through which

the song comes forth is old and outdated.

Like others the same of nature,

unwanted and unseen by popular culture.

Still the songbird sings,

for it was born to do so.

Alone it sings to a world,

who will never know it was alive.

© 2015 J.B.Thomas