I trod the mile of ocean spread,
thundering towers spit and collide.
Vicious, crashing, roaring;
Enshrouds my mind.
This very moment;
classical notes of baroque.
Filling my eardrums.
Art has been made
"To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that he might be glorified." Isaiah 61:3