Symphonies

There are songs
I must not sing.

Verses shimmer
Like a mirage on a desert highway.
I see them waving
And imagine how they might feel
Urgent in my throat
Forming on my tongue
Birthing from my lips.

But I am not their singer.
They are greater than my flesh.

I yield the greater grace
Unwilling to suggest
I am match to the air.

The tempos are simple
Melodies clean
Every chorus uncomplicated
Building to effortless crescendo
Each verse an expression of fidelity.

Art is for performance
In the theater of the soul
And my soul is a careful performer.

My mind is a stadium
My heart the artist
Passion my spotlight
And God the audience.

Tears start from the eyelids
Streaming the cheeks
And unvoiced cantos
Are symphonies of silence.