The Music Composer

On a cold autumn day
A new song is born
The song is one of a baby
Excited and lively
The song of the child
Is playful and sensitive
Curious and naive yet quiet
And in its silence
The child listens to songs of others
And begins to form her own in their likeness
She learns what is right and wrong
What are manners, how to be gentle and kind
She learns to read, to write, to smile, to speak
The child takes her learnings
And forms it into music, a song of her own
One she carries with her as she grows older

As the girl grows
Into the age of what would normally be self-righteoness
Her song loses notes, gone forever in time
Confused and alone
She tries to fit her pieces in with songs of others
But her music, once the sound of the sweet chirp of a nightingale
Is now hard and broken and rugged, like a thousand off-key choirs
Now solitary and outcast, the girl is left for herself
She tries to piece together her shattered notes
And, alas, finds she cannot do it alone
The girl is angry and short-tempered
The negative side of her music
She dwells in what she cannot fix
And fractures the song further, and demolishes it
Having learned a lesson
The girl starts a new piece
Carefully and slowly, one step at a time
As a bird would build its nest
She finds other imperfects like herself
Others with songs broken and newly begun
Hope glimmers in her heart, and she learns a new note:
♪Light shines through even the faintest crack♪

Aging and maturing yet further
The girl and her song will reach heights only seen in fantasies
She hopes the notes will carry her around the world
To places she has not yet seen
She dreams of leaning more, adding notes to her composition
And maybe remembering lost teachings from her past
She prays she can make better decisions
And to rid herself of her ugly short-temper
Most importantly, the girl wishes to know more about herself
But knows one thing for certain
She is The Music Composer
Writing a never-ending song