His voice rose in haunting tones. The rise and fall as he sang pierced my heart. Now reflecting back, the words he sang almost swallowed in the noise of the park, I remember his stoop as he sang. I see the way he felt the words deep with in him. They seemed too painful to utter, yet with every breath he let them burst from his lips. This was his tribute, his sacrifice, and his life.
Where he comes from I do not know. I stared at his slightly homeless look. At first hearing his deep voice I did not think of him as a singer, more a man making noise. Yet the longer we stood looking at shirts, and listening to the people filing down to the dock, his voice had such a calm appeal. The way he sang and the rich tone that filled the air shattered my first impression.
Why was he standing there? Where did he come from? What journey brought him here in front of the statue of liberty? What did this sacrifice of service cost him? I wished not to leave his strange enchanting song, yet my feet carried me away.
1 comment:
Some great lines here Kara... "I did not think of him as a singer, more a man making noise" and "I wished not to leave...yet my feet carried me away."
You took me there with your words.
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