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The melody takes root, a fragile, budding thing, A whisper in the soul, a joy it wants to sing. But silence holds a wisdom deep and vast, Where not all yearnings into music last. Some chords are dissonant, a jarring, painful sound, Recalling hurts that best remain unbound. A lyric etched in bitterness and blame, A flickering ember of a dying flame. The throat may tighten, yearning to release A story steeped in sorrow, lacking peace. But to give voice might amplify the sting, To let the darkness on the airwaves swing. A fragile hope, a dream that failed to bloom, A tender secret sealed within the room Of memory where gentle shadows play, Might shatter brightly in the harsh light of day If forced to melody, a public, open plea, Some fragile beauty thrives in privacy. The weight of words, once uttered, cannot cease To ripple outward breaking fragile peace. A song of anger, though the feeling's past, Can leave a lingering echo, meant to last. Perhaps the heart finds solace in the hum Of unexpressed emotion, overcome By quiet understanding, a silent knowing nod To battles fought and paths where angels trod In hushed compassion, recognizing well That not all truths are meant for tongues to tell. The unsung song can linger pure and whole, A private language resonating in the soul. Unburdened by the world's interpreting ear, It holds a truth that's intimately dear. So let the silence hold its sacred space, Where not each feeling seeks a vocal trace. For in the quiet, strength and wisdom lie, And some sweet melodies are best kept nigh, A secret treasure held within the breast, A song of self forever unexpressed. The air can breathe more freely light and clear, When not all burdens are for all to hear. And in that restraint, a deeper harmony, A knowing grace in what we choose to free, And what we hold, a precious silent art, The unsung songs residing in the heart. ©bfa041325
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