Faded whispers race along the ceiling
Overtones left behind as the last chord
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.