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~*~Unsung~*~


Her passion was to sing.
She,in a way,felt it was
everything.
Yet, somehow,she'd lost;
The sound...
For all of it's profound;
Relations.
The music; Blurred.
Hauntingly stilled;Unstirred.
At at halt-finding fault-In her
Notes that at once could pound,
To the drumming of her spirit...
Seemed to resound;Into chords of
Nothing.
How,then,could anyone deny;
The jilted cry for her passion?
Something that was merely hers,
To supply.
In darkness;Without reply.
The anguish...
Of thinking her song would fall
short-Unable to import-
The meaning behind the passion.
So coveted;Longing support...
Of the song;So long unsung and
unheard...
Not spoken,nor forgotten,every
word.
To sing once again when a bird;
Of faith comes calling.
Will there be flying or falling?
Alone where the notes are hung.
Alone;As hearts are swung...
In a balance of tribute to a song
yet to be sung...
Shall we ever hear it?

~*~G.M.Key copyright2004~*~

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