I Sing For The Unsung Poem by Rory Hudson

I sing a song with tuneless voice
for the wayfarers of the world

who tread the trackless wastes
of long lonely landscapes,
landscapes unknown and unloved -

who travel unseen into vistas grey with pain
into valleys which have no name
into the earth which awaits them in silence at day’s end -

who wander among forests dull in hue
thick and unforgiving as a void contract of love
their leaves falling slowly from dry branches -

who are lost hopelessly amid the mocking cries of birds
in the morning and again at sunset
sharp as the prattle of fools at drunken feasts.

I sing for the heroes who are not heroes
who have existed and not existed since the dawn of time
who cannot define their lives in symbols or words
who have nothing to say and say it over and over
to the rocks and the forests and the overarching sky.

I sing my song under leaden clouds
and in the greyly dripping rain in places where nobody goes -
my song inhabits bodies broken by desire
my song exhales the dessicated winds of lives unsung.