It begins not with a sound, but with a stir—
a whisper in the wind, a pulse in the heart,
AMERICA, the song, rises like dawn—
not from one land, but from the soul of many.
...
AMERICA...
A Symphony of Fields and Dreams...
It begins with light spilling over green fields,
...
The quiet storm of heartbreak
as black tears, your song touches my heart,
mind and soul, as the realities of earthly life,
uncertainty is the certain thing in the life on earth,
...
The quiet storm of heartbreak sighs,
In black tears falling from twilight eyes.
Your song — a shadowed lullaby —
Touches where thought and soul lie.
...
Black Tears, Sacred Flame
for Imelda May
A quiet storm in velvet shade,
...
In the silence between notes and tears,
A poet rose — with heart sincere.
Not to echo fame or chase acclaim,
But to honor sorrow, soul, and flame.
...
In the hush between a heartbeat
and the breaking of a voice,
he appeared—
not to dazzle,
...
In the hush between a heartbeat
and the breaking of a name,
he arrived—
not to dazzle,
...
Black Tears, Sacred Flame
for Imelda May
A quiet storm—
...