Kaleidoscopic outpouring of truth sparkling jewel,
jingling a fine fixing fiery flow of forgotten fun,
reverse twist purged open to speak in parables not uttered,
in a quiet room beckoning deeper silence still,
though billing the moment the cost of the thrill.
Where dose a song go when it leaves?
Slipping, each blinked eye lid’s memory cleaves,
the midwife of melody vines her head from the trees,
but where does an icaro go when it leaves?
Mind like drum as quiet trapping snare,
how is it that we hear music beyond silent air?
We sense where she rests, and come to meet her again,
but where does melody go to be born and call herself friend?
Tu voz era una galaxia,
quando los arboles canta,
mi corazon canta,
no es una idea profundo,
es una idea mas facil.
Amor canta en todos las lenguas.
Tus sentimientos es musica de las estrellas.
Escucha.
-Kevon Simpson 2016©
