With horns for mouths
like trumpets
boasting of His glory
the swirling tundra of life and sound
and lights abound to sing praises
to the all encompassing djinn that orchestrates,
with majesty, the symphony of polyphonic
natural drums and strings and bass and
singing voices rising up
past crowns in perfect proportions,
sharp tips bowing down like the petals
of flower that no words could ever
describe
the utterance bubbles forth unbidden
there are no languages that are sound enough
to paint a vivid portrait
of the colors we haven't found,
not for lack of trying
like lightning with a hint of ocean
or orchid with a trace of frown
borders wash away and divine spaciousness brings
quaint resolve
and contentment
to the whites that bathe in begonias
and the feathery down of violas
and the need to praise the glowing circles
and sharp edges
and the union of the swimmers to the
ocean that they live in.
Only blessings and praises may fall from my mouth.