Kinetic

The moon melts into butter.

David Rudder
Mar 10, 2020 · 1 min read

Moving across the dance floor,
The swish and perfumed air,
Then I walk out the door,
Seemingly without care.

Gazing at the city lights,
The music drifts on by,
The moon melts into butter,
Wee droplets from the sky.

I climb the stairs to heaven
And hold you in my hands
You hide then slide away from me
To spread on other lands.

A shivering sensation,
Someone I cannot see,
The phantom of the opera,
Holds your golden key.

It twists and turns and opens,
My mind to find within,
Kinetic absolution,
Besides my next of kin.

I wish and dish out options,
Which one will I choose?
Some fabulous concoctions,
Then there’s the daily news.

I watch as my mind wanders,
Then picks a thought apart,
And shreds it into segments,
An abstract work of art.

For me, I feel the presence,
A spirit in my soul,
Moving with the music,
Start to take control.

I look past the horizon,
And watch the golden glow,
Kinetic waves that wander,
And know it’s time to go.

Copyright reserved

David Rudder
29th June 2021

Thanks for reading.

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David Rudder

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Top writer in Poetry. I am a diarist and write poetry to reflect my thoughts.

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Sharing emotions — Spark plugs to ignite your virtual humanity. Be heard!