These words are easy,
their melody kind,
and I’ve written hundreds
of these in my time.
But for every poem
that I have penned,
I would give each one up
to write lyrics again.
The best of myself
came with a voice
that sounded like Heaven
had lent angel’s noise.
I would take every word
and weave it in song,
and the voice would carry
each word along
into ears
and into hearts,
and my lessons in failure,
I could impart.
It was never perfect,
but my words were raised up
with each note added
to reach just enough.
I miss the piano
and I miss the guitar
and I miss how my words
could be raised above par.
And for every poem
that I have penned,
I would give each one up
to write lyrics again.

© Blake Leitch September 7, 2015