The crowd hushes, a magic silence,

They sit, and wait, patient and quiet.

The conductor settles, he stands very still,

He raises his baton, the orchestra waits.

The strings raise their bows, the winds breathe deeply,

The first note sits just a moment away.

The singers stand tall, turn into someone else,

And wait for their cue, the story to tell.

The baton drops, the note rises from nothing,

Bringing understanding, peace, happiness, and joy. 

It grows and swells, growing legs and arms,

hands and fingers that wrap around each heart.

It circles the room, sweeping and swirling,

Growning in power, layered with yearning.

It shimmers with beauty, moving with ease,

It cries out with loneliness, sighs with regret.

It screams with anger, weaps with tears,

Then the hope is rising within.

It reaches, it stretches, far into the heavens,

It climbs to the sky, and reaches the clouds.

Just for a moment, we see the greatest heights,

The lowest depths, the darkest nights.

It rings with triumph, soars with joy,

Showing us where our spirits are full of light.

The suddenly, it's over, at least for the night,

But the seeking never stops, just waits for a while.

This poem is about: 
My family
My community
My country
Our world


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