I am a music
waiting to be played,
mute silhouetted notes
on golden bars,
held captive
by a silent, lifeless page,
in a night without
the hallowed touch of stars.
The Master cometh,
though the wait is long,
to breathe on me
so that I yet may sing
that song of God,
when His call
sets me free
to soar with silver wings
eternity . . .