In the primal soul of man

In the primal soul of man,
 How can words surpass the burden,
Needing first deciphering
  Before a touch? Reason–both a key
 And a wall. And what inherent
    Deception of context semantics
    Requires to descend to the deepest
  Ineffable soul so seldom reached.

Words can't dance with hammers from
 The obscurest psychic crevice
Cracking boundaries known least
  Of spirit's space. Hear the subtlety
 Music bests our subtle language
   With. Senses exalting within the 
   Ancestral remembrance of something
  Transcendently uncommoditized.

We imagined instruments
 Made by human hands, but truly
They emerge from dimly known
  Dimensions: forms, holy conduits,
 Governed only by acoustic
   Arrays in a wave of creation,
   Inventions discovered to grant us
  A path to that holy realm at will.

Now we have created more.
 More than instruments and more than
Tools. We've built machines, a new
  Immersion site where we may submerge
 And revere reverberations;
   The state of the art these mechanics
   Engenders revealing much more of
  The musical universe that is.

Newer skins to wear for new
 Ultrahuman beatings on the
Drums; new whines inside a throat
  That will remain griefless all the time;
 This uncovered music's breadth and
   True ocean–the river we crossed of
   Entirely ethereal things and
  We found ourselves human more for it.

What a brilliant confluence
 Swallows me! Fantastic music
Singing everywhere, aloud 
  New instruments fuse with nature, sound
 Never extant here in space, but
   Beneath the eternal amazement
   Beatitude listens and opens
  The door to the tabernacle's gift. 

Instruments fantastic, from
 Their imaginary pistons
Perfectly exacting slams
  To samples, wind, echoes looping and
 Drowning me in artifice to
   The point that all sound is composed now
   United: the howls of the beasts to
  The crackling ice, us, it's all a song.