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.