Once upon a time a harpist played
A note in life's unwritten symphony.
At that instant, a falset escaped
From the 4 guards of the sound.
The winds of change were coming, and with them
The falset echoed messages to the engineers of the soul.

It traveled on the misty breeze,
Affecting the columns of imagination.
The winds whispered to the engineers,
And they wrote on blank pages,
Ethereal trails of the primordial mother tongue
That we had forgotten - the Signature of our souls.

Words caressed, gently, the long lost chord,
The pillar of our innermost thoughts;
And, as the poet's hand penned a verse,
The 4 guards silently observed the escapist
Humming through the ensemble of our spirits,
A quickening atmosphere, waltzing softly.

There were streams babbling through minds,
Musical notes between all the shoulders...

 

omnia mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis