Remembering Songbird

Remembering Songbird

There are people we meet who stay with us, not because their time was long but because their presence was unforgettable. Songbird was one of those people.

He once described himself as a songbird, and that image has never left me. It captured both his fragility and his strength, the rare quality of a voice that could carry sorrow and beauty in the same breath.

After his passing, I found myself writing. The words came out as a poem, a way of honouring his life and the gift of his song. His story was not easy, and his melody was not always simple to hear, yet within it there was truth, honesty, and a quiet courage.

I had hoped to show him that life could be good, that his story could stretch further. But his song was his own, and perhaps the most I could do was listen. And so I listened, to his pain, his hopes, his doubts, his laughter. I listened for the meaning between the words.

Though his voice has fallen silent, the echo remains. Some songs are brief, but never wasted. For those who loved him most, I hope they know that his song carried, that it mattered, and that it will not be forgotten.

And for me, he will always be Songbird.

Songbird

Songbird came
and sang his beautiful song.

A song that was difficult
to sing along.

His tune held many verses
of a life filled with pain and hurt.

He had good rhymes to sing, of course,
yet this failed to ease his remorse.

You see, the songbird’s song
was short and fast.
He was not sure
if he could make it last.

I hoped I could show him
that life was good.

But he knew something
I never could.

That the song he sang
was the gift he gave,
a song that I was never
meant to save.

He sang a wonderful lament
with great feeling.

I listened to his song
and its meaning.

And the pain that is left
after his song is gone
is of a song
that was difficult
to sing along.