O voice of my Soul-filled thought.
lake an octave within range of my performance,
Make of it a simple melody,
And spiral it outward.
Let it not he trite.
Nor triste with longing;
Make it sure, pure.
Strike every note
To float in ringing azure
Dimensioned to heal.
My range is what I sing
Of what I hear.
The sound is amplified to double, triple, almost infinite,
But never lost am I,
Nor pitched too high.
If still my ear is faithful.
The Word, now powered and grooved in the gauge of Soul,
Meets no sense antiphony.
Meets only theme of receptivity.
And eager hearts
Tune threads of lifelike melody, above, below,
Awake to their own harmony,
A manifest of heaven.
Thus One is All.
