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There lies in rhythm a hippocampus, which relentlessly recalls the former. The past and present stand chiasmus; whispers of that which was. Summer warmth and children’s laughter hide within every note.
The movements of the soul’s lost dance, divulge through tearful sighs. Steady vibrations caress the heart; piercing through the bone. We see through sound and feel through light permeating through brass and string. Artists play what stirs the heart and makes the widow sing. The fading glow of past lives lived out of grasp and reach. Though, for this one moment time stands still and those that were do breach. The joy that flows through music played, sends shivers up the spine. To touch and kiss, just one last time, that sound which was once mine.
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AuthorDL Peterson is a writer exploring the quiet intersections of faith, form, and the human soul. His work traces the sacred patterns hidden in ordinary life—where grace reshapes what striving never could. Drawing from theology, literature, and lived experience, he writes with a contemplative voice that invites readers to slow down, pay attention, and rediscover the presence of God woven through the everyday. Archives
August 2023
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