Do You Hear the Pipes Playing?

 

Do You Hear the Pipes Playing?

(“Though you were like straying sheep, you have now returned to the shepherd and guardian of your lives.” 1 Peter 2:25)

Do you hear the pipes playing,
wooden flutes on distant hills?
Do you recognize the melody,
floating across the silver river;
the acoustics that draw you home?

Do you hear the folk tunes, the roots music,
the banjo and guitar sliding under your consciousness,
the cicadas of the afternoon.
Feet tap on wooden porches, children clap
and dance between the broken boards and
tall glasses of sweet tea.

We have all seen it, the fear at the end of the gate.
We have all felt it, the shiver when we think we have
arrived too late. But then we hear it, the welcome song,
the hug your neck, we haven’t seen you for so long song.
And today you stay longer than you did last week,
today the song sounds stronger, like stones in the creek,
and it makes you want to stay until the impulses to leave
fade behind the music the master has played.

Though all have fallen fast asleep, the music continues
well into your dreams. It encompasses everything.
The fears are real but the melody infuses
the spirits and trauma that left you confused.
There is a wanderer who bids you to follow,
flute and birds lead the way. Tomorrow, like today,
will be the quilt comfort of ballads and blues,
the muse calls you to stay.