Should of Donated to my Children of Dreams

"Menial Treasures (Don't Think Twice)"

I heard a noise today.
Sharp and crisp
Yet distant and mysterious.
It told me things.
Whispered and roared.
From time that felt like an instant,
Had gone by in a decade.
What worthy of you did it tell me?
Or show me?
Or change me.

It shared with me, as a new noise approached.
From the distance.
As a tornado.
Looking soft in the sky,
As clouds cuddled in fuzzy fog
and swirly darkness.
Created sub-level commotion it did,
but to my gratitude
it changed me.

And hence is what I discovered.
A journey that enraptured and enveloped.
I was a wrapped letter,
and this noise made origami
with my parts of paper.
changing me.
and telling me.

Some words can't be written.
Not for fear's sake,
but sense's dear sake.
For can you grasp a gasp
if you whisk away the air?

No. Air moves on paper,
but once when transcribed.
With no initial motion
to propel it into action.
But move it does,
from shapes on pages
to motions in flame.
Inside your body,
your heart,
and mostly your mind.
Oh, so pages do have minds.
Ok, nevermind.
Let them run (rampid!).

I saw your statement.
Quite a testament.
It got up and walked.
Where the legs came from, I know not.
But came they did.
It wanted to sprint. I could tell (so strongly)
But it soothed itself into a song.
Such a sweet sweet song.
No words.
For words are too moxie to describe
these elements
that prescribe
you.

Oh that song.
Glory in sound.
None had ever met my ears before,
(None in this greeting.)
It asked for my hand at one point.
Partitioning to surround my senses.
But a brief
capturing
moment.

The sounds I heard were
grand and ungraspable.
Yet grasp at me they did.
Tightly.
Yet gently.
Carefully constricting my organs.
As if constricting was the opposite.
More so the opening of the lungs.
The mental lungs.
The heart, if it were a lung.
Then the sound, this sweet song.
It fell on my ears,
Like a soft feather returns to a
recently
lifted
pillow.

Time was of no challenge to it.
Oh, no, are you kidding?!
The cosmos were trivial to this noise.
"Noise" being too harsh of a word
to even be associated
with this
original
wonder.

And that was you.

You and your noise.
You and your sound.
You and your song.
You and your heart.
For your heart is of gold.
And solid it is.

Wash over me once more,
or more than more,
or douse me in your memories,
your precious statements and your genuine constellations.
(for you are a bright star)
So lovely. So tingly. So many depths.
My answer is that and this
for this is who you are
and who you are
is dear.