I divine Language as some worship God.
I marvel in its Ascendance and Fall.
I hear entire Symphonies in Sound.
They carry all the Voices of the Wall.
The Chamber of the World inside a Shell.
It never Forgets even a Syllable.
Its Vowels are its Hallows and Shelves of Silk.
A Temple of the Memory of Dawn:
Pure as a Sound without Sound makes a Sound.
It is Constant in Musical Foment.
Never has it Lain Down its Instruments.
But Played on them for Eons Infinite.
Just as every Person is a Being.
As such is the Power of a Feeling.
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