Where Music Is Spoken Poem by Patti Masterman

Music is the language that we speak
From soul to soul, pressed cheek to cheek

Music is the transport of our elation
Finding its way into each constellation

High notes might cause us to suddenly fly
Low notes gently bring us down, by and by

We steer in the same way that the wind blows
Buoyant in its travels; full within its flow

Are the rippling bars of the musical spine
And notes, silver tinkles from a star once mined

Chords, where our souls were in perfect tune
Can take us as far as the dark of the moon

Which song is playing is the favored one
Till the music works its way again back to the sun

And in time, all the notes will be in repose
While we wait for another earth to compose.