Trumpets of Passion
Embryonic sound budding
in the melodic heart
and lovely mind,
primal voices under
the direction of divine grace,
harps of heaven,
angelic trumpets,
melted violins, crimson sunsets,
glassy seas, shooting stars
out in deep space,
nature’s mystic land,
heaven’s breath traveling
through the walls of time,
home of the melodic heart,
a garden of the Jasmine
blowing the sweet scent
that rises into the fragile air
and rides with the zephyrs,
compiling airy thoughts,
of tuneful portrayals of heaven,
the blending of the poetic heart,
wolves of the wild and quiet lambs,
the passion and
the running of passion,
of whispered melodies
and dexterous fingers
caressing the valves, the slaves
of the trumpet,
carrying the sound to open places,
sweeter than the sound that entered,
converting the beautiful
into the extraordinary,
the trumpet and the man
and the conversion of
heavenly thoughts.
Oh sweet sound,
Oh that sweet sound.
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