His turn to sing

My garden is a symphony 
harmonizing with the bees
Composer and conductor
air moving through a breeze
flowers strumming colors 
keep rhythm with the sun
practiced wind picks up the chimes
in the background
birds talking in the crowd

This is no ordinary symphony
Do you hear it
whisper now

Air reaches out to find me
Sun crescendo warms my feet 
No greater sound exists or can exist
nature's never-ending prose

My garden is a symphony
Layered perfectly together
A masterful collage of senses
Do you hear it
whisper in the now?

The misplaced sound of machinery
takes first percussion chair
I don't mind at all
the disturbance plays its chord

I am here amongst the music 
of this ordinary song
on this porch 
beside a garden
hydrangeas dancing in the moon
Muhly grass not bloomed
Blue Enchantress singing 
tiny buds on sun slouched stems
Allium with patience wait
It's not their turn to sing

Airplanes flying low 
reminders of those moments
his eyes gazed at skies above
and said the things he saw
Perhaps nobody heard
No matter  
They were spoken for himself
A reassurance to the universe 
this thing was safe
A reminder to himself
He was no longer at war
I don't think he could hear the symphony
He only heard the battlefields
Does he hear it now, I wonder
Is it his turn to sing?

These are the moments 
insides the movements of a life
This is the symphony 
we cannot hear
when we forget to stop 
to listen
worse
when stolen while at war

This is the opus that plays 
against discordant sounds of sorrow's heart
This, my friend, is life
It is your turn to sing