Sometimes
silent music is the best music of all.
It falls like night.
It falls like a snowflake.
It is a smile as opposed to a laugh.
It is a poem as opposed to a song.
It comes to you as on a noiseless wing
of no required footstep.
You need not walk out to meet it.
In winter’s hour it comes like a snowflake,
yet, as welcoming angel, its embrace is warm.
©June 11, 2013 by Ut2
Acrylic on canvas by UT1
Within spring abides fall,
a hot summer’s winter’s snow,
moss at the swift crossing;
hurry, and take it slow.
A bell rings across a doleful theatre.
Moving mirrors catch leaves
in a façade of sky and cloud.
Contained in a summer’s breeze
is a winter’s sneeze;
sunrise: sunset: the nighthawk.
It blows about and wheels.
All across, riverbanks,
sand, slip
as if through an hourglass.
Within the field of horses and haystacks
the façade of sky and clouds
dances to a solemn tune.
©June 6, 2013 by UT2
Acrylic on panel by UT1
Acrylic on panel by UT1