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A sonnet that sings
What story does the music weave this night
When senses stilled by dark and velvet black
Caressed by sound evoking inner sight
And set to run in mystic visions’ track?
A cloak of wonder, worthless to a world
That sets a price on human life and breath,
Descends and settles like a cloth unfurled
To take us to a realm beyond our death.
This journey strange is made and seen in dreams
When rest is active in imagined ways
Our fears are faced from deep remembered streams
Drowned by the cares of pressured urgent days.
This music sings us from our selfish cage
Into the freedom flown from flesh and age.
© Neil Thompson 2025