My poem for August

Hi everyone,

Here’s my Word of the Month poem for August.

The Voice Clock

When he was little,
his voice squealed,
piped high soprano notes
that accompanied his play,
the excitement of each day.

But came a time
when the high notes cracked,
like shards of youth, into deeper timbre,
croaked at girls, who were curious
more than attracted.

Awkwardness ended
at the threshold of manhood.
His voice grew strong, firm,
confident beyond his years,
but people listened.

He grew into his voice,
learned about life,
became a lover, father,
wage earner, leader,
spoke with manly assurance.

The clock kept ticking.
The once deep thunder
of his testosterone-laced voice
lost its verve, began, at times,
to quiver and break with uncertainty.

He still yearned to speak but feared
his outdated wisdom and the sounds
of his soprano voice.
He sat in blankets, folded in thought,
and watched children play.

(c) 2018 David L. Harrison, all rights reserved

11 comments on “My poem for August

    • I know what you mean about singing, Mary Nida. In my youth I was something of a singer and once sang a solo in my church, Battle Hymn of the Republic. Now I stand silently and refuse to croak along with any song.

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