Crescendo.

ever present to the dictates of self consciousness (i think about what i think about) and made to live and staying alive in the spheres of cultivation (i obsess about future effort) i eschew the dominance of quarrels (i have to solve the disquiet) and straight point the sounds of my song and soul (Inspiration and eternal beauty are a per-occupation) to a reality i could never readily make present (Heaven must be near). i find more and more the absence of sound a drain to the perception of deity (its God seeking me to sing Him to me.) I crescendo the lofty ideals of eternity and beauty.