The Song

This is one of the poems that spoke my heart the deepest, after my husband was diagnosed with cancer.  It was inspired by a beautiful and encouraging conversation with our friend and pastor.  In the early days of processing the blow that struck our home, he came over and encouraged and prayed with and for us all.  But what stuck in my brain was this idea of our life being our song. And how we sing it as it is composed, but give it our own unique tempo and flair.  And so I would not forget… I wrote this in my beloved one’s honor, as thanksgiving to God for His provision and love.
The Song

~By Wendy Simpson — Jun 10, 2014

Born upon this earth
Each one with the Composer’s song
Every moment recorded
To be played, someday, loud and long.
In the early days of trial
When our song is silent and unbroken
Earnestly awaiting its Composer
It rests in words yet unspoken.

The composer considers every note
As He walks through dark and dawn
Listening for the bird’s song on the wind
As He orchestrates storms and as waves are drawn.

The song sheet is before Him
Holding a pen in His hand
Revealing the name of His masterpiece
As He places it upon the stand.

Then He takes a step back
Assembles all who will be playing beside
He gathers some close and intimate
And some He places around the outside.

He lifts His great hand
And invites the assembly to begin to play
Notes appear on the sheet
Revealed with each measure’s sway.

The Great composer stops and rests
There is more He must write
Emotion flows from His pen
And the pages become a sight.

So much goes into its creation
As every measure becomes a line
and the words reveal beauty
That scroll across the pages like a vine.

He writes as if his heart would break
And tears now stain the pages
Mixing with ink from the pen
Almost as if a battle has been waged.
The composer never rests
Hand stained with ink and tears
He is intently devoted
As the orchestra patiently waits for more notes to appear.

As introduction and melody
Face the Composer, breath abated
It is finally time to reveal
To whom it will be dedicated.

He says, “I’ve written your name upon the title sheet
As, Beloved, you will read
And I’ve instructed the orchestra
To play it as you lead.

The song can be played
At your tempo, you decide
Make it yours but play each note
With speed or rest applied.”

He placed it in the hands
Of the beloved one He wrote it for
And reminded him
The end is not a finished score.

Then tenderly He took His beloved to His side
And whispered arms around him, “I’ll be here to write
When you are ready to finish the song

But for now sing it through even the darkest night.

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