One, the Song

The song drifts upon the crystal river of Time
  casting its harmonies upon the fabric of Creation
Life springs from True Love
                          that cannot exist in this
                                  imperfect world

The song weaves its beauty upon the lofty clouds of Heaven
  unconsciously mocking the imperfection that lies beneath

How can I continue, when the Ideal is unattainable?
  For all in my hands turns to ash and dies
     without the spark of the song
 only cacophony arises from my throat,
  a terrible parody of the song that the wind sings