For a Song.

A Poem. Lyric.



An acoustic guitar, on the beach. A guitar lays upon the sand of a beach. Guitar. A photo of a guitar, alone, laid out on sand. On the beach.
Photo by Rifath @photoripey on Unsplash

For a song,
She meditates.
Here daily, composed.

Her Babes Lullaby.
A Frequency. Arcadian Melody.
She Grieve with Hope.

From those Heavens to which God himself made —
for our Babes, to lay, to rest after their final breath. On their dying day.

To a Depth only known by Our Ravenous Sea’s.

Eyes ablaze with excitement upon of our faces; each.
Our skin raises in praises of Mother’s sweet grace’s.
To be at ease,
back home, showered, clean,

With hopes of him; her only living — to come home.
All should agree. Though, memory distorted, this meaning of Temporary lives on.
With hopes of their song to come along,
Do you not agree, does anyone see?

Standing free.
On top of what feels like, a highest of mountains, with this world in our hands…

steadily ready, grounded, are our feet.

A future, for which only we seek. Winds barely fit between our fingertips as we reach!
Our chorus will not only sing, but it shall also scream!

Our Listening Party will want to hear a Song.
And… they’ll either sing, or skip in fear, in hatred, along.

For a song.

Played in tune,
with a melody so free —
Heavens shall open up its gates for you, and for me!
Just for us to visit whomever, occasionally,
Before it is our time to rest among.

Before it is our time. For our song...
We sing, Patiently Awaiting, Concrete.

Anticipation of newfound horizon —



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©️ 2023 letasheslay ™️

©️ 2018–2024 aelizabethmind ™️

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My ideas on the complexities of our human mind’s, with an appreciation for the “darker” realities— Whilst insisting, Hope, remains unwavering in all of us.