Willa, the Bard

.::
In the space of ancient magic
The first creation is sound
And when God plays an instrument
Through your hurt hands
Or through your tired voice
All that is not love is suspended
All that is not bliss is left behind
When music is present
My beloved
No walls come down
No despair can be found
It carries a beautiful kiss
That is kind and open
That is truthful, and profund
The melody I sing can only be heard in your heart
So close your eyes
And find me in your creative well
Surrender
And be the instrument yourself
::.