Above the veil where silence breaks,…

Above the veil where silence breaks,
where unseen light in motion wakes,
there hangs a choir beyond the sky—
no mortal ear, no passing eye.

And there they stand in fields of flame,
the angels carved without a name,
with harps of platinum, gold, and air,
whose strings are threads of answered prayer.

Each chord they strike is not just sound,
but living force that spills around—
a ripple, vast, a woven stream,
that stitches souls to something clean.

And when they play, the heavens lean,
as if the dark has never been,
for every note descends and moves
the buried heart, the soul it proves.

Down where the tired footsteps tread,
where hopes grow faint and words go dead,
those strings reach out through fractured days
and lift the worn in subtle ways.

A stranger pauses. Anger falls.
A hardened mind forgets its walls.
A grieving heart finds sudden grace,
like morning breaking on a face.

Compassion stirs where none had grown,
like seed awakened in dry stone.
Joy returns where none remained,
and peace unbinds what fear had chained.

And as the earth is softly changed,
the heavens answer, rearranged—
for every life that starts to sing,
another harp is given string.

New instruments of sacred art,
are forged from every turning heart,
and praises rising, rich and free,
become the next eternity.

So nothing given fades away—
each lifted voice will find its way
to echo back in higher skies
and wake the sleeping paradise.

And in this endless give-and-gain,
where joy returns through every strain,
the universe is kept alive—
by love that plays, and dares to thrive.