LAST CYCLE © 2008

Music was born in seven prayers,

And flowed through human blood,

In the rhythmic beat of hearts,

Escaping into infinity with adrenaline.

In every pulse, it hides,

In deep, radiant silence,

Waiting for a genius to respond

And raise it among the present crowd.

It hopes to be more than fleeting sound,

To intervene in the millennium with boldness,

To become intimate, never fleeting,

To feel alive in applause and joy.

And when it sounds, it will echo in souls,

Like a prayer never forgotten,

For music, when it is born and soars,

Remains in the heart of the world.

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