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Mar 2016
Twirling in my fingers
Spins a pen so black
The ink inside
Tries to hide
The rainbow in its pack.

Charcoal placed on ivory
Etchings tumble out
These words born
Freely adorn
Colored garlands and shout:

Look beyond this mere form
Beyond the letters scrawled
Make it live
Art that gives
Birth to entities tall

Each mark harbours a prism
Words filled with endless shades
A window to
Look inside you
Painted canvas that prose laid.
Poetry is a prism that fractionates the written word onto infinite meaning.
S S
Written by
S S  Australia
(Australia)   
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