Language Of Soul Poem by Joseph Narusiewicz

Purple gloves stripped of shadows
Jazz dream surrenders into bliss
Something innocent like meadows
Singing chidren make their wish
Music is a mystical fire
Theater of every desire

Embellish your decorated tears
Let everything come out of you
Express all that is fine and dear
Dress in the deepest red and blue
Like flaming forests we dance
Sing in the wind take that chance

Music is spirit with guests of honor
Parables sigh metaphors of time
Secret dreams of sacred Father
Longing stars that need to shine
We lament then we rejoice
Let every heart lift their voice

Harps, trumpets, violins and flutes
Guitars and the tribal sound of drums
Let the refined teach hungry youth
Hear the noontides and the lover sun
Angels sing joy to the world
Let every theme be unfurled

Every song a language of soul