Roger A. Rose

Rookie - 366 Points (July 20th,1945 / Madrid, Iowa)

Sing A Song Of Me - Poem by Roger A. Rose

Songbird, sing a song of me.
Make it sad, make it long. Empty loneliness sing.
Tell of building Walls, hiding behind, and never free.
Safety in internal solitude, where joy cannot ring.
Songbird, sing my forlorn soliloquy.

I hide behind an outward ruse
And tell the world and others I need them not.
In truth I need them all. In my self abuse,
I hide. I hide from myself and from thought.
My true feelings I must not loose.

The Walls are high, the Walls are strong.
Built with care and length of time,
They enclose me, having hid me for so long.
Hearts reaching in, no matter how sublime
Cannot penetrate. I've been so long..... wrong.

Songbird, sing a song of me.
Make it sad, make it long. Empty loneliness sing.
Tell of building Walls, hiding behind, and never free.
Safety in internal solitude, where joy cannot ring.
Songbird, sing my sad soliloquy.

In my youth the Walls were small.
Small stones piled low.
In time, the blocks enlarged and the Walls grew tall.
Small hurts, rejections, and losses grow
Until the Walls can be passed by nothing at all.

Loneliness self-imposed is worse
Than a dull knife wielded at an anxious throat.
It cuts slowly, and like an ancient curse
The pain produced transcends the moat
Of safety built by cowards lies carefully nurs'd.

Songbird, sing a song of me.
Make it sad, make it long. Empty loneliness sing.
Tell of building Walls, hiding behind, and never free.
Safety in internal solitude, where joy cannot ring.
Songbird, sing my somber soliloquy.

Afraid to live, afraid to die.
Lifes' essence left to wither and loves' glories
Passed from fear of hurt and by and by
No one hears the stories
Of pain and loss that make a grown man cry.

My Walls are high and only God can reach the top.
His hand reaches down to my darkness
And my arm stretches up to meet His, but must stop.
With much emptiness between the Holiness
Of His Light, my hand I let, unfilled, drop.

Songbird, sing a song of me.
Make it sad, make it long. Empty loneliness sing.
Tell of building Walls, hiding behind, and never free.
Safety in internal solitude, where joy cannot ring.
Songbird, sing my soliloquy.

Songbird sing, sing a song of me.

(C) 1996


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Maya Angelou

Caged Bird



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Poem Submitted: Friday, October 3, 2008



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