I think in poems,
drink deep sounds,
smell bright colors,
untie the bound.
I touch the notes...
they ripple in the air.
Taste the pain .....
no qualms no care.
I orchestrate a silent fugue,
two voices never heard.
Pen it all inside my book
then read it to my bird.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 6:28 AM UTC
I think in poems,
drink deep sounds,
smell bright colors,
untie the bound.
I touch the notes...
they ripple in the air.
Taste the pain .....
no qualms no care.
I orchestrate a silent fugue,
two voices never heard.
Pen it all inside my book
then read it to my bird.
