To the rhythm of the whispered song
he strums out every melody
and sings the story
of every life
but one.
Disregarding his own
reticent song,
to pump his blood into
broken, empty hearts
Neglecting the soul
that lies inside
hiding behind
a misread heart
which pulses out a
muted melody-
humming softly
barely beating
as if it could fade away into
Silence
Having sung the story
of every life
but one.
Who will sing
for the unsung man?
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