The silence you paint, with echoes, of a hundred different hues.
At times I feel you sound sweeter than the Angel Israfael, whose heartstrings are lutes.
The seraphs in heaven, halt their prayers, to hear the tune unfold.
Low, mournful, singing of untold grief, a soul saddled by love.
The universe holds its breath, as your song travels to heaven’s adobe above.
Atlas trembles as the weight of skies comes crushing, unlike before.
As Gaia too shakes to her very core; yearning to unite with Oronous once more.
The suns dims and a chill run though all creatures of the Earth. Lo, Apollo himself has been humbled.
With each seconds, the mystification mounts. Magic it is, yes, and of the most magical kind.
The only trick to protect the sanity of one’s mind. Is to never close your eyes.
For the hymn will swirl images of things far too beautiful for mortals to lay their sight.
Yet the one thing of this world lovelier, is how your lips tremble as you complete the rhyme.