The First Song

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Poetry

by Philip J Bradbury

‘Twas not the first song that took my heart
Could not touch me, this quiet, gentler art
For I was a raw and shallow lad
Not yet ready for the depth of sweetness and sad

No, I took my days ten strides at a time
The rash and reckless drunken swagger was mine
Nothing was but a scream and a hoot
And I saw no horizon; not past the end of my boot

‘Twas not the first song that gave me wings
For I was soon beyond the playground swings
Thinking manly deeds in a little boy’s shorts
I punched through life; angry selfish thoughts

Thinking always I was the Life, the Truth
Smashing at walls, hurting but me, so uncouth
I blundered through teens and twenties years
And there she still waits, my first song in tears

She’s waited, knowing I’d return
Knowing that, after the crash and burn
Comes the fall, from naïve and brag
From contempt of others my mouth a rag

From the despairing pit my pitiful cry
Not a sad note was she, but a lullaby
I damned myself and she blessed my soul
Note by note did she fill my dead hole

She sang through the thick, dark cloth of despair
Voicing back threads and giving me air
She sang herself to me, I hummed her back
I smiled to her eyes, my tears did track

She flowed forward, holding my hand
I pulled her close, within a hair strand
Then dissolved my shame, forgiveness she gave
The first song I promised then, to love to the grave