--By junior L.
The dilemma for the comfort of my peace,
Thy will exerts my softened blows,
Who says to I, I am the master of destruction,
that begged the question,
Which seemingly and intuitively knowing we would demand for an answer,
Says before I asked,
" That is to say the master is simply a piano,
One with keys that ripples through my soul. "
Fire will burn your impurities,
the dream of a lifetime conquered the heavens with beauty,
After begging my fingers,
After countless nights on my knees,
after questioning the glory of my mind,
All so I could hear keys of my love,
The keys that had led my soul astray,
But having been by her side for an eternity,
Shall we call the hounds of tenderness?
They do seem to cater to our needs more than another could,
that is to say our glorious needs,
pride is madness of beauty,
A purple lamp for the doves of peace,
Picture the beauty in thy garden of the Almighty's will,
Sing me the melody of the tethered flower,
Play the keys that move my heart to safety,
I shall listen intimately until I meet my soul,
Within the soft Lumiere of the angel's softness,
I cared not for the fool's laugh,
Hanging by a thread he savored in my plot,
Shall I dare say these keys are the epitome of absolute love,
The keys of my love indeed,
In my soul that is.
Namaste.
Amen.