Hearkening To the Light

I once saw a movement,
a teardrop moving up from below,
a melody trying so hard to be seen
that when I asked to listen,
the sound could only blind my senses

With the sightless pure color of white

Where does one go in such sensorial bombardments?

Back to the dark,
a quiet place to listen once more
to where seeing has been impossible.

I witnessed a sonance one time
whose crescendo could be heard
coming from the distance,
whose diminuendo cried to not be lost,
to always be available to those
who can see the song of the past,
know the harmony of the present,
anticipate the inevitable counterpoint of the future.

Listening again to the light,
one finds love

in all its orchestral mystery

 ready to be fully revealed.

Oh my.
Oh my.