Subtle
The circles of the silver train
Smooth as silk and sensitised
pieces past perception
reasons without seasons
slides of self-deception.
Subtle as a shadow
imagery at work
peeling back the layers
where innate feelings lurk.
Sorting out sensations
ideas and attitudes
from the sheer chicanery
and pointed platitudes.
Subtle as quicksilver
too slippery to grasp
at the speed of lightening
an arbitrary gasp.
The Celsius of a second
four seasons done in one
a sip of wine a sweet caress
fun done on the run.
Mirrors and reflections
ideas made of wood
the mystery of nature
a place where you once stood.
A thought that’s caught without a word
a fleeting missing link
the circles of the silver train
what I think and drink.
Lost in love without a map
words swallowed never said
sweet surrender of my mind
the dreams I have in bed.
©
David Rudder
26th May 2020
Thanks for reading.
