Bliss

I hear my children sing
They don't hear me, I do it quietly
When caught I sing with them louder
Not to be caught but to inspire
I pray for more...

A lonely place sometimes feels good inside
not to be noticed but to notice instead
The best comes from a child who is not defined
the most is the part yet undefined

The attempt...
The effort...
The learning...
The effort....

The song is art
Music, beauty, fill space with loveliness
My God Himself requested this
Not for me, My gift is complete
Still I want them to sing forever..
it is a lovely thing

Sometimes each hates me,
sometimes ashamed of me.
Not to blame, I understand.
I'm a very-very strange kind of man.

It hurts me to hurt them with being what I am.
I cannot change though.
I am exactly what I am.
I'm different...

When boys played ball I learned to sew.
When they kissed girls, I hid
I was a shy boy of sorts.
I found my place inside books, music and art,
Now I define myself by what I found,

I cannot write, barely read sometimes.
not here for that anyway,
here for just one thing
To hear my children sing...

*tears in eyes now, thanx for rippin that outta me!