Reflections on Inside Paul Horn
Wait in the stillness where we shall ever endure, with those few who stand tall through the days and the years, feeling always the gentle wind. Here we can experience the warmth of a million candles all aglow in the darkest evening, while moonbeams reach out from the misplaced holes where they are held captive by the ever approaching morning.
As we stare through a window at reflections seen, the mind relinquishes a tender shiver, alas like a memory of music softly playing and delving into the hollow of things that seem tenderly forgotten or purposely abandoned!
And a soft horn plays beneath the mechanical plastic, while the voices held captive seem all too real, and the ears upon the skull dance in pleasure to what is heard by the mellow soul. And like all those things from our memories past, words flow in poetic rhyme and repetitive lines.