There is a key, unseen yet sovereign,
forged in the silent furnace of the soul,
turning the unseen tumblers of heaven—
it is music: the first language, the final balm.
Each note, a filament of ancient gold,
winds through the marrow,
awakening the sleeping rivers of light,
stirring the alchemy of becoming.
In the hush between chords, a temple rises.
In the cry of the strings, a veil dissolves.
In the heartbeat of the drum, the cosmos remembers—
we are the vibration that births new worlds.
When we listen — truly listen —
we are not merely healed,
we are remade: molten, sovereign, eternal.
Pain melts into cadence;
longing reshapes into wings.
Music is the sacred cipher,
unlocking the gates of infinite selves,
lifting us beyond the rust of earthbound sorrow
into the endless architecture of stars.
Here, the body becomes prayer,
the spirit becomes sound,
and the soul,
at last,
remembers it was always the song—
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