Music sprang into my being.
It was the only beauty that I knew just then;
for the blind beliefs of faith descended
much too quickly to amend the dark.
Yet beauty still would find a way
to utter life into exquisitely enchanting tones,
where harmony resided beyond doubt,
and every particle would open out
into the dance.

It waits here still,
one step beyond the many moods of fear
of unbelief and any dignity
that’s said to dwell in death or dying;
defying even stoic strategy
within the dirge of its deep reprimand.
Playing still, the uttered strings of being,
moving freely in and of infinity;
breaking through the mood of every chant
to live itself in ecstasy again . . .

? Michaelette ?