As intangible as heaven lies a place where flowers bloom through the feathered cavities of clouds, clouds which support the inspirations of the pulchritude of sound, music. The perpetual composers lay there surrounded by an ongoing sea of billowing smoke towering above them, just as the Parthenon gazes down apon the people of Athens. The cherubs with their omnimence prepare, one after another the angelic symphonies with a quil in their hand and a pipe in their mouth, so that they may inspirit the mortal minds of those whose strive and struggle for perfection has nearly brought them to the fine line between maddness and genius.

They decend into the world and find themselves sitting beside the likes of Mozart, Chopin, and Bach and with their fragile, infant hands guide their pen so those on earth may hear the voice of heaven, through music.The earthly composers are not told what and what not write, it is because of their own greatness that they achieve to construct their masterpieces, but the cherubs still watch and observe them because they were chosen to have these gifts from God, no other, not themselves, nor their mentors.All to many musicians and artists do see not see beyond the stone, through the canvas or nigh the clef and scale. For I am sure that just as there is a place where there is the enlightenment of sound, there is one for sight, where the winged babes bear chisels and brushes.

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