An Artist's Abstract

When night crawls into moon-lit lines across old golden oak
floorboards that follow the grain of dreams
And love writes words in whispers only the soul can hear;
--letters of the alphabet written without logic or reason
forming patterns
like smoke-rings across the memories of trees within the deep purple of a sunset sky;--
its chaos long gone in the shadow of legends.
When autumn leaves paint old houses white with early snow
and
streets are coloured with VanGogh's
madness,
time ceases to exist
yet
continues to echo the chiming of the hour;
its sound changing an autumn light.
Within the comfort of silence,
my heart follows the flight of a leaf,
and
my soul can hear the sound of rain as it falls across a symphony
yet unborn.