Beautiful Voices At Dawn, A Poem of Becoming

We are all aspiring artist
Living in darkened theaters
Trying to make beauty
Out of our lives.
We perform for audiences
Of empty seats,
And play numbered melodies
On broken violins.
The wind's icy fingers reach past
The layers of coat, and cloak
To burn our skin
With hateful indifference,
Whispering without words,
'If there is no God then every loss
Is buried unmourned,
Every tear is shed without hope.
And our songs are written
In faded ink for deaf ears.'
But the Master Musician
Has counted our tears.
He paid admission and
Waits for center stage-
Longing
To  mend the strings
And take up the bow.
Through His hands
Our melodies make sense,
And we become countless songs
At sunrise
That enthralls the angles.



I wrote this poem I began to think of this verse from the Prophet Isaiah. it is one that says God is wanting to make our lives beautiful.

"To proclaim the favorable favorable year of the LORD and the day of vengeance of our God; To comfort all who mourn, to grant those who mourn in Zion, giving them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting, so they will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the lord, that He may be glorified". Isaiah 61:3.

(c) A.E. Dozat 2/2/15