Her Voice Poem by Otega A

I hear it!
O yes, I hear you!
The magic of her voice cries again!
Rising and falling in pitch
As it walks up and down the city of rhymes,
It comes each day like it has never been heard before.
If it be a deceit of hearing, you'll pray it continues forever
For no creature wants to live a second except for her melodies.

It's the voice of an angel!
The voice of the whole world!
Piercing and perching on every soul,
It reads the lines of rhythm to rhyme.
It's the voice of the mountain calling to the valleys!
It's the voice of rainfall in the mist of drought!
The voice of gentle and whirl winds blowing from afar.
The voice of the sun by day and the moon by night.
The voice of Mother Nature herself.
Divinity in motion!

Paralleling the angels of the heavens,
It enslaves fierce spirits of many that are fierce
With a weapon that offends with ease.
Slow in tune, the tenderness it brings
Mingled with the melody it rings,
Placates restless minds
And leaves boredom pleading for her continue singing.

As it tactfully comes out thrillingly
With the rise of the each morning,
Dark sailors of night are forced into tranquility of mind and soul.
Then comes the therapy from the days struggle
That fills the air in the cools of the evening.
O yes, only Miss Nobody that lived in the never existed world,
Could have paralleled this tone.

How do we get through a second without you?
O thou mistress of rhyme and rhythms!
You'll take away everything good in life
And we'll be lost if we lose you.
Now, we offer to slaughter the world at thy alter
In exchange that you soothe us to find peace.

God of the saints,
You destroy your works a second time
With a fire fiercer than Sodom and Gomorrah's
Should you tarry in giving us
A million copies of this grace
That the turbulence
Which wrestles our might each day
May by it, be vanquished.