We didn’t just turn up and sing, you know.
We rehearsed for ages –
through Ages -
learning our parts:
the cherubim sopranos,
going over and over –
we younger ones needing to learn
how to process from heaven
without setting fire to the wings in front of us.
I was the cherub soloist,
charged with the opening lines:
did you think that such a task would be
given to an archangel?
I am much older now;
and can no longer reach those highest notes –
does it surprise you that we angels age?
Much slower than you do, of course;
but yes, we too experience growth through time.
Again and again
we filed across the starry sky;
sometimes someone below caught half
a glimpse, or snatches of our song,
and tried forever after to join in.
But for the most their fellows thought them mad,
or they turned mad in trying to complete the song.
And when the night came,
how we sang! A song
the like of which earth had not heard
since that great day when
it was sung into creation –
oh yes, God sang –
nor has heard since,
though every word still resonates
through time and space.
Some hear it still, and still join in
caught up in joy that defies understanding.
For songs are not for playing back,
as if you were a lifeless tool:
songs are for breathing life into
and sending on.
Songs are for living.