The Choir Of Longing

She’s top of the class, so to speak.
If they were handing out ‘Gold Stars’
she’d be absolutely covered in them.
Not on the same level as the other girls…
‘Shines’ like something ‘Otherworldly’
when stepping into the zone.
The rest merely become backing singers
when she hits those high notes.
It almost becomes unbearable to listen to,
everyone in the Cathedral winces,
not out of pain… but, from a discomfort
brought on by a euphoric, grating pleasure.
Once, I closed my eyes tight,
and shoved my fingers into my ears…
expecting at any moment
for those beautiful, ancient
stained-glass windows to implode.
There’s something ‘Damaged’
right at the root of her soul…
you can feel as well as hear it.
Lord, I’m shivering just thinking about it.
I’ve seen grown men get up and leave,
wiping tears from their faces…
and proud, strong women
buckle and fall apart right in the pews…
when she bullseyes
the hurtful truth hidden inside us all,
and gives both ‘Hope’ and ‘Despair’
such draining and echoing meaning.

Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published in many publications around the world. He yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight; this too may pass, yet. Buy his books Scribblings Of A Madman (Lit Fest Press); Poetry From The Nearest Barstool; and a split poetry book The Raven And The Vagabond Heart with Bethany W Pope. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.