Barber Shop Singing

My heart is haunted by the lonely song of
going it alone.
Secures as water are the words of men,
stable as straw their promises.

Try to catch a promise, cage a word,
and it escapes out of hand.
Lyrics written are burned off the page
once the music's done.

I take the promise to the bank,
endorsed, ready to cash.
But the funds are overdrawn,
early withdrawal and avoid the rush.

We're not created for solo flying,
nor tightrope walking alone.
We're not created for shadow boxing
in the dark.

We're created for words that bind,
promises kept and barber shop singing.
We're created for prayer circles
and hands held tight in close harmony.

Mark Phillips