Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Music's Wings

Music’s Wings
by Megan Amelotte

The string is brushed
the note is played
the soul is touched
the musical sound is born.
So innocent, so sweet.
To rest upon that note
lean against its curve
melt into its harmony
to float away on that sound
is to never again touch the ground
taking off on music’s wings.
There is no voice
like the voice of my soul when it sings.
To fly high into a world of colors
only seen by the ears.
A musical soul can see when it hears.
To never again see the earth below
only the miles of sky left to cover
as the birds fly by
and the angels, too
as God paints the sky
a foreign blue
a blue that is only
known to the soul
for it is music
that makes me whole.

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