Crisp little black lines,
On a stark white page,
Dormant they lie,
As the brown leaves on grey pavements.
Lithe fingers touch silent strings,
Vibrations fill the air,
Lines transfigured to notes,
Dashes and dots turn to sound,
Melody rises to meet the emptiness.
Tiny blobs fall free,
Onto sheets of canvas,
Merging, mixing, moving,
In a dance of colors from mind to matter.
Curving wrinkles on smooth skin,
Warm and welcoming,
Holding without rope,
Touching heart and soul,
A portrait of color, sound, and vibrant lines.
© Ruth P. – 2016
No part of this work may be reproduced.