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His soul is invisible, yet lustrous like the moon.
His spirit releases a soothing and musical essence.
His eyes glisten, wandering down unknown alleys.
His voice is beautifully deep and grieving,
And his words ignite my soul.
His love belongs to his music,
It is his true companion, and will ceaselessly be.
He guides an army of song,
His poetry flooding the building.
I catch his eyes.
I am pulled in, my heart lost to his possession forever.
With glorious obscurity, I try to seize his gaze,
But I realize I am eternally surrounded by abundant eyes, longing to intersect his.
He is a blue spirit, a simple man.
He speaks tenderly and gruffly.
He seems tired, like an adored, worn ruin,
Though he appears to be a silenced youth.
I stare at the stage grasping his feet,
It is the horizon and he is the sweltering sun.
He is powerful, but he is innocent.
He is a simple and complicated human,
He is a gratifying gift.
Though my words seem to be full of lusting worship,
And I seem to be a pathetic, foolish devotee,
That is not how I feel.
My words are stirred and full of everlasting faith,
And I am a grateful, humble admirer.
He is a secretive artist, a mystifying leader.
His music wraps around my body,
And I become content.
In the enormous, disturbed building,
He is the giver,
And we, the ocean of an audience, are his takers.
Amongst the others, I grasp a handful of inspiration,
One that will spark my ambitions and strengthen my dreams.
He is the healer,
And we are the healing.