His Voice
His voice is like a riddle. Is it the voice of a demon or an angel that I hear? A ghost or a man? I once thought that I knew, but now I'm not so sure. Could an angel speak with such fire in his tongue and such menace in his voice? Could the groaning of the dead be so hauntingly seductive? Yet no demon could speak of love the way he does. No man could sing with such perfection. He is everywhere and nowhere. One moment, he is high up in the balcony, the next, he's whispering in my ear—yet when I turn around there is nothing but the sound of my own erratic heartbeat. I am alone here in the dark, but I can sense his presence. And, strangely, it is not as unsettling as it should be.
For many, it is the things not seen which are most fearful, but for me they are a comfort. Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. My father taught me well that faith does not rely on sight, nor does love rely on beauty. For the Lord sees not as man sees; for man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart. And somehow I feel as though I've failed him now, failed my father and the Angel of Music—for I never once questioned that magnificent voice 'til I saw for myself what a horrid visage lay beneath the smooth porcelain I thought to conceal an angel's glory. Oh the horror! The horror! Could an angel's voice have such a face? Could an angel's eyes light up with such a blaze?
But no demon would beg as I'd seen him do. No demon would shy from my touch as if in fear of being stuck.
As I walk away tonight, white dress drenched in water and tears, I have to swallow back a sob. I can hear the mob approaching, and I know it's all my fault. For though I now know that he is just a man, they will not see him as such. The angels wept tonight, my love—they weep for you.
I love his voice because it lets me know that I am never alone.
NOTE: Scripture verses in italics are from Hebrews 11:1 and 1 Samuel 16:7.