Faded whispers race along the ceiling

Overtones left behind as the last chord

Dies away.

Notes have color. Blues and reds and greens.

Purples here and there. The odd brown. Perhaps a black.

Rarely a white. Maybe that’s why we call it white noise?

Not much call for white sounds. Colors are preferred.

Beaming from the speakers,

Resonating a rainbow,

Carrying forth imaginations composed of some part of those 12 notes.

One day, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,

Paintings will be the sheet music we play from.

Colors of sound.


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