There is something about a voice of song that never ceases to intrigue me. I know not as to whether it is one reason or the other or simply as to why it is so appealing, but it is a subtle thing that exists there in the voice that is so beautiful it almost brings me to jealousy. I have striven to achieve that beauty of song wound by word and breath, but my throat seems incapable and I am left to squawk my attempts in the silence of my solitude. It is an embarrassing feat when I attempt to make a display of the public form of what progress I believe to have made with my incapable mouth. But I am always brought to silence by the pure power and grace of the many that surround me with their absolute beauty of voice. It is amazing and awe inspiring, something that God alone is able to grant a being of man.

I have dared to think perhaps once or twice that a lesson in the arts of training my breast and lungs to obey me so that I too may make such noise of pleasing nature. I have found it more often then not, however, that is those who voices hold the raw talent of unlearned ability that are of the most magnificence. It is not that those who have learned the proper instruction of how to use their bodies to their musical inclination, it is just that the untouched force of a voice holds so much more strength when it is original.

Ever being holds their own sort of touch, whether that be expressed in their manner of tongue or the writing of the hand it does not matter, though such a touch is revealed as an individual thing with each person that expresses it. I have discovered that such a register of the senses is almost best found in the act of listening to those of the raw breath that brings the trail of prickled flesh tracing the length of your neck and back. I am captivated by music and will never cease to be. Even with my butchered attempts, I have not lost my passion.

The tease brought by my many friends is that I will one day be lost to the beauty of a man's voice sung so sweetly in a melody of his own. I do not deny it even in the least. The exceptional play of the piano or the power of a voice are my weaknesses. I can only smile and shrug the tease away, giving it full credit and validity.

It comes at last where I find myself speaking of nothing similar as to why I began. So still I will say that a voice holds the sway of emotion over every and all beings of man. I care not as to what they say against it, but it is of full truth. The power behind the patterns of breath whether sung with song or spoken as word are what have influenced what is what we call the here and now. Such things will always exist and I must remind myself that a personal passion cannot be banished by self doubt, but rather met with persistence and patience. I will remain despite the cringing of my fellows, and I can only smile in response.