Always waiting for someone,
To tell me how to make music.
There must be more I need to learn,
Or else I’d already be doing it,
Wouldn’t I?

The songs I want to sing,
The joy that they could bring,
The words just mangle in my throat,
Every time.

Will it ever be too late?
Or is this inner debate
all part of the opening of the eye?

If I could just relax,
Then that peace would come back,
As the seeing and the making become one.

But the second it hits me,
My muscles contract,
And I know it’s because I want it too much
that it’s gone.

So I want not to need,
But I need not to want,
And I’ll never succeed,
No, I’ll never succeed.

As I try to stop trying,
The tension just grows.
I know I should laugh,
But I won’t.

Because I’m always waiting,
For the opportune moment,
To capture this life,
Like a living scrapbook,
To grab it and make it mine.

And all the time I could’ve been singing,
Even now,
Always now.

Written and published May 2024

Image by Joshua Hanson on Unsplash – https://unsplash.com/photos/black-and-gray-microphones-close-up-photography-Qizcmx0djrw?utm_content=creditShareLink&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash