Until the old soul can no longer hear.

Photo by James Sutton on Pexels.com

The soul yearns for sufficient fulfillment,
From the moving vibration in the air,
Slips into the tunnel to the eardrums,
Harmony of voices and instruments,

The slow-touching yet finely stroke echoes,
Accompanied by strong distinct voices,
The notes, the pitch, persistent emotions,
Swimming and swirling filling the vast air,

The euphoric moment all wish to last,
Until the old soul can no longer hear.

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