People singing,

Such melodious voices,

The octaves rise and fall,

Like the threads being weaved through a loom.

Voices, voices in the air,

Controlled not only by the tongue,

The oesophagus,

But also by the lungs.

So many complications,

So much control,

A fatal crush to the body,

And these wondrous sounds may disappear.

It takes so much training,

So much practise,

Before one can have a Voice,

It's really not that easy.

Yet, with practise may come pain,

With practise may come less spontaneous behavior,

With practise may mean sacrifice,

And lots of time invested.

Many have tried for auditions,

Many have failed,

Many have passed,

And some became famous.

For many tears shed,

There were a few cheers made,

For many's dejections,

There were some triumphs yet.

Curses were sworn at those who succeed,

Envy and jealousy were rampant,

Whispers abroad,

Malicious tongues wagging.

For to hurt can lessen one's pain,

To gossip can satisfy one's curiosity,

To pry is human nature,

To gloat is not uncommon.

The price of success,

The price of failure.

Which would you prefer?

Decide for yourself.