Towards a Definition of A Song

They hear mechanized sounds

From broken guitar strings

And old, decrepit pianos

At better times, they mix discordant

Tired sounds from their sound softwares

And they call this music

What music?

I want to hear their voices

Whether they be guttural or saccharine

I want to see their mouths round

Belting a tune from within their depths

I want to hear their voices

Without the noise of machines

Sing me a song live

Don’t lip sync

I want the quietness of the moment

Then hear your voice rising up

Up, up

In one song that will remain

Long after you have sang

Then I want to hear the serenity again

This I call music

C) Lorot Salem 2011

 From prompt in Poetic Asides With Robert Lee Brewer # 133 on "Priorities"