Melodies Poem by Bragg Adocio

Melodies

Sometimes I wish there was a way to translate heartbeats into English, Spanish, words of any sort. I would learn any language just so I could say 'inser translation here' and not lose you, and have you completely understand. Just one word that shows, without a reasonable doubt, what I'm feeling, what is going through my head, what my heart is screaming in drumbeats.
I think composers had it right. Should I write a symphony? Could a classical opus vocalize more than these simple words can't muster? Could a cello hum confessions better than a vocal cord? Could a harp represent my heart, singing sweetly over heavenly White clouds of peaceful nervousness, and other outstandingly terrible oxymorons that seem to describe my mixed-up mashed-up, upside-down emotions caused by a single note on the keyboard of my imagination.
Could I possibly play a song so real you start to see sounds and doubt reality? Where a reality apart is simply the biproducts of too much sun and not enough water, and one with us together is a desert oasis?
Is such a thought too outstandingly-horrid, so seriously-ludicrous, so crazy that it just might work?
Am I not the first to think of this? A language of the heart? Music, possibly? 50million lovesongs can't be wrong because I can't help but feel they were each written for us. So maybe hearts don't speak English but they know A through G and every sharp heatbeat and downbeat in between. They form words on impossible chords and remind you that connections are strongest within earshot, and stronger over radio waves, love played through antennas wound with wire tight and strong. And You can catch me every night on your lucky numbers broadcasting heartbeats all night long.