Soft, loud, loud.
What am I?
Not music, just the lines on a page. Yet depicting the pitterpatter of moonlight, music, lines, dreaming, all the same.
Soft loud soft
Gently in little strokes a delicate face emerges
Loud loud
The night sings through my hand, darkening until no line is left unshaded, no place left
unworked.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 11:33 AM UTC
Soft, loud, loud.
What am I?
Not music, just the lines on a page. Yet depicting the pitterpatter of moonlight, music, lines, dreaming, all the same.
Soft loud soft
Gently in little strokes a delicate face emerges
Loud loud
The night sings through my hand, darkening until no line is left unshaded, no place left
unworked.
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