JV ( / )


Your logic
sometimes trips over my artist's pallette
while neon light fades and colours the equations
Cobalt blue and midnight stars
that turn to notes and letters tumbling from my soul
unto sheets
pages of dreams written upon sun-faded paper.
Thoughts and sounds are recorded in time
like scattered poems that are hung to dry on a clothesline in an Icelandic snowstorm.
Your voice,
like the waves that chased the sea-stones on a summer's day would echo through my dreams.
Your sagas,
crossing the night like fishing boats coming in at high tide,
wove lace patterns upon frosted Reykjavik windows.
-Breathing the past and the present-
your voice finds my dreams and makes the canvas real.
always chasing infinity's equation
within the soul of an Icelandic snowstorm
like minor Bach
playing upon the heartbeat of a fugue.

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