Music

Music is boundless in its attire.
The lifting of its being in its existence.
Is endless in the way of its constraints.
Soaring, wheeling, spiriting in the
Diminuendos and crescendos of life
Until one's binding within, bursts
With the fury of fire of volcanic eruption,
To an ending of inner peace of the soul, God.

by Geraldine Cutler

Other poems of GERALDINE CUTLER (4)

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