Beyond the Tongues of Men and Angels

Rain streaked cymbals
chiming in pairs
to the wind’s hollow brass notes
but the tongue alone
has no voice
to echo my heart,
though I speak with the tongues of men
and of angels.

And
If I
have not charity,
I am become as sounding brass,
or a tinkling cymbal.

Yet,
between my mountaintop
hiding in mists
and yours
where eagles nest
no language divide
no ravine of sorrows,
only summer blossoms' aroma
and rapture
floating through
sun-tipped iridescent skies
in eloquence of synchronicity
for bliss everlasting.


---------------

"Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.”
1 Corinthians 13:1