Analysis of Listen to their soul

Listening to their souls was like poetry written in utter expectation and free flowing speed.
Their words were as crystal clear and calm as rain on my window pane that did not stick.
It was so soothing I did not need to reply to a single utterance they made but merely allowed their tunes to play like a rendition of Bach's air in G minor played over again as if he had walked in the room and put himself on autopilot, while I scrolled the internet for something equally as beautiful and blissfull from a universe blinding me with signs, finally convincing myself that I was satisfied with my little oasis of life that happened to pass by and quench their thirst of mind, if only for ten sweet seconds, while my concentration allowed for their existence.
Ten seconds that I couldn't allow to twist my arm into concentration for fear of loosing a single one of them to the ether yet again, until my mind noticed and shut them down in a heartbeat, until it was too late and again the grip on such iridescent a balloon was lost, and they had returned through the heavenly door that brought them to me and silence engulfed me like white bed sheets in a cold and lonely hostel.
I dare not call them back for fear evil will follow in their soft lustrous glow or worse the disturbance to their eloquent beings  become so awe inspired that it rattles a cage so delicate in love of light that it takes even a mere fibre of attention away from God himself.
A God who hears, understands and feels the deepest of life, lines of poetry and written word itself by the letter in all forms across all worlds as it is written and teared over giving complete passion of ear and consciousness of gift of knowledge, to progress them further in mind and awe of themselves.