I've reworked this.

He Sang

He sang out his sorrows

When he was a boy,

But now he sang out

Great exultations of joy.

He sang out the sun

And they felt its soft warmth,

He sang out the rain,

And nature’s rebirth.

He sang out the stars

As they passed overhead,

And the noises they made,

Some living, some dead.

He sang out the colours

That nobody saw,

And he sang of their music,

And the perfumes they bore.

He sang out vast cities

Made of towers in the sky,

And he sang of winged people,

Whose dream was to fly.

He sang out harsh deserts,

Parched by the sun,

And the life that abounded

When long day was done.

He sang out mighty dragons

That had borne him so high,

He had touched God’s face -

Not a word of a lie!

He sang out the oceans,

And the behemoths he knew,

And all those who heard him

Believed it was true.

He sang out the aliens

And their obscure purple home,

Where on top a still mountain

He had pondered alone.

He sang out new worlds,

New hopes and new dreams,

He sang of what was and

Of what was to be.

He sang out wild magic,

And wove tapestries of charms.

He sang light on dark evils,

To shield folk from harm.

He sang with such power

The people were there,

Standing beside him

In the worlds that he shared.

And as he sang his great visions

Note those people's surprise,

When he slow turned his head

And revealed empty eyes.