Stretched across vast oceans,
Each with tides,
Ebbing and flowing,
In their endless cycle.

The lyrics reach,
And the melody carries.
The harmony lifts,
And the rhythm steadies.

Voices lifted in song,
Each one unique,
Carrying an auditory experience;
A miracle of sound.

The crescendo mounts,
As the tension builds,
And the boiling and roiling sea,
Carries the notes on thundering waves.

Finally, the dam breaks,
And every bit of music and ocean,
Pours into oblivion;
Notes and droplets, chords and buckets.

The hearts of the singers,
All beating in time,
Pump music through the veins;
A lifesaving effort.

The pressure lessens,
The song is nearly over,
As the singers prepare,
To finish what they started.

The chords realign,
The parts reassemble,
And not a tone is overlooked;
For the ending is crucial.

Alas, the song is over,
But the memory lingers.
Of intertwining and climbing and rising parts;
The sheer exhilaration of it all.


But the memory always lingers.
It haunts the soul,
And touches the spirit,
Until nothing else matters.

Just music.