Magical Mosaics
Music made without a sound
My mind is full of mixtures,
Blues reds yellows and greens,
The places and the pictures,
And the in-betweens.
Between the words, there flies a bird,
In full flight and free,
Whisper quiet and hardly heard,
She wings across the sea.
Into magical mosaics,
The movements of our minds,
Tripped by abeyance,
Pulling down the blinds.
The winter chill the summer heat,
The rain then white sunshine,
The silence of a swift retreat,
A melody divine.
In and out of attitudes,
We weave a magic spell,
The position of the platitudes,
A sound too soft to tell.
The shifts and bits of edges,
Pieces from the past,
The freshness of the pledges,
A love that’s meant to last.
Ripples on the salty sea,
The sun’s an orange ball,
In my mind, there’s you and me,
There’s love and that’s not all.
Wrapped around we have found,
Magical mosaics,
Music made without a sound,
A palisade of patience.
© David Rudder
2022
Thanks for reading.
