Past

Our fingertips are not so still
when old stories
are told hushed and bare.

Secrets remain unspoken 'til
the lights lie low
and there's a sigh to share.

Our hands move wild and without will
when slips of life
are whispered with care.

This was my first attempt at a rhyming poem. A friend of mine who is attending the Music Conservatory in SF asked me to work with him writing some lyrics for the choir of a symphony he is writing. This portion is about "the past." Pretty neat! It turns out this little piece needs a lot of work but it's been fun to reach outside my realm for a bit.