When they speak of the precious melody,
perhaps they led us to believe
it was ever manifest, like a chime;
the mythic folk tale defaulted in its revelation of the single note
one unheard,
a pull, rather
singing, humming, spinning you around,
like the tiles of a ballroom floor coming to life,
like the phases of your tears-they fall, they dry-as they quicken,
they whisk away into the thin air you inhale a goodness your very breath clings its life unto;
emotions of control and honesty and beauty,
whilst you rid yourself of coarse, shaky uncertainties,
battling and combating the daggers of desire,
piercing each and every side of your walls,
humbling your groundings into muddiness,
with it astonished at your senses, amplified;
as your soul it sings to the sublime;
when the world feels impractical,
when the trees they hover over you,
as though to shield you from grave mistake,
but you tread on, higher
enchanted,
deeper into this vibe;
this connection all too foreign to barricaded boundaries,
for every moment in time where you found yourself walking the steps you walked,
smiling the smiles you led astray,
they spoke through a letter, a chromatic,
leading to a faint diminishing array of harmonies all too magnificent,
a tune your soul bares itself to, dares itself to
climb into airy dreams whilst you close your shuttered eyes to rest
where it belonged all along;
a longing;
alongside you.
"i never believed i'd tell you this, but you're the word my psalms will miss".
.jpg)
