Songs of Ourselves

A song of myself

Sung in a voice long shelved among full stock

Yes now covered in dust, surely finer than your’s

Stowed away in masonic holding, so novel and unique,

Ironic that they are all the same

Timeless then, as timeless they are now, as timeless as they ever will be

My song once celebrated before its shelved years

Poised to be forever, or so we’re told

But they leak, holes poked, wall broken, seals popped

Only when stowed away, a futile effort mind you

Quarters thought to be silent and bare

Were songs of myself heard, each as unique and indifferent as their masonic hold

Quiet

But as present as I’m sure their composers are sure they are silenced

It is that which why I play back my song

To be celebrated again