Where Broken Things Belong: Shenandoah in Silverstein Mode

Here’s Silverstein Mode reflecting on CHANTICLEER: Shenandoah — that old folk echo soaring from velvet throats:

CHANTICLEER: Shenandoah
Silverstein Mode, Engaged

They sang it soft, they sang it wide,
Like rivers pulling at the tide.
A ship of voices, stitched in seam,
That rocked me back into a dream.

“Shenandoah,” they sweetly sighed,
And I forgot the years I’d cried.
Each note a nail in sorrow’s door,
Each harmony—an open shore.

No drums, no brass, no clash, no scream,
Just lullabies inside a stream.
Their voices rose—twelve lantern flames—
That called back ghosts and whispered names.

I leaned in close to catch the hush—
A maple leaf, a midnight blush.
They built a bridge with breath alone,
From longing’s ache to somewhere home.

And though I sat in shoes of dust,
I felt my soul shake off the rust.
They sang, and time just slipped away—
Like rivers do... like men who stay.

So bless the chords that do not break,
The ones that hold when hearts may ache.
For what they gave was more than song—
A place where broken things belong.