Sunday, July 2, 2017

GUESS YOU CAN CALL ME DEBBIE DOWNER

I've known I was going to write this poem for a long time, but I have to admit, I've put it off as long as I could. Why? I guess I thought if I didn't write it, I didn't have to face the fact that this means so much to me.  But I have to face it, IT DOES! So, as my good friend says, "It is what it is."


IN MOURNING
By Patty Lynn

I’ve figured out the reason, just why I’m feeling glum,
The loss that I am mourning is not a common one.
I mean not everybody feels this deep, abiding loss,
Nor understands just how it feels or even come across…

An innate gift like mine, it’s true, a blessing undeserved,
A blessing like no other one that suddenly occurred.
And I was sure I’d always have this gift of mine forever.
I wasn’t owed, still God bestowed, this gift, my greatest treasure.

You see, I loved, yes, loved to sing, it mattered not the song,
From background music on TV where I would sing along…
To starring roles in musicals or hymns on Sunday morn,
Regardless, singing was “the thing” for which I had been born.

I know too well what has been said, “If it’s not used you lose it,”
I searched the past with heart downcast but found I’d not abused it.
Why then, I said, has this transpired, where is the voice I’ve longed for?
What have I done, why punish me, what is it that I’m wronged for?

No one can grasp the depth of this, my voice was my catharsis;
No matter what went wrong for me, just singing helped, regardless.
It’s true that in my younger days, I’d sing at different venues,
The chances, they were plentiful, these choices on my menu.

But my life changed, as years went by, performing less important.
I had the joy of Grandma-hood, so singing time was shortened,
Replaced with singing nursery rhymes and quiet lullabies,
My audience were baby boys, my payoff coos and sighs

I’m not complaining, no I’m not, I’d do it all again,
I only wish the voice I had was like it was back then.
No volume now, and if I sing I sound more like a man.
An octave lower than it was when all of this began.

And when I hear a singer who, like me, is older, too,
Whose voice maintains the same rich sound they’ve had their whole life through,
I can’t but help to mourn the loss of how my voice once was.
The joy it gave, the loss of which such sorrow it has caused.



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