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With this pen, I paint an image of you.
Not a portrait, but a true portrayal of you.
The ink flows into words that dance across your hair.
The end of each sentence marking a cross that you bear.

A painting would be suitable for some.
With beautiful colors, cascading down on you from above.
But, those colors mearly hide the truth behind your smile.
With the right shade of light and a light smear, it becomes a cosmetic fix for a while.

My words flow through every crack and fill every shadow.
They bring all light to the surface, for the reader to see within the shallows.

The image of you that I create can be vivid and great.
But with this pen, my words can also design your fate.

You see the truth here is that my words hold all truth.
They leave no place for lies to hide, with each word holding proof.

In the readers eyes, my words are you…
With this pen, I can create you…
With this pen, I can finish you...

- Brandon K. Stephenson
The underestimated writer and the power within his pen.
Jack Mandala May 2015
Disappointment runs across my face
As your life has gone south and left a bitter trace
The future looked immensely bright for you
A golden crown carved with your name looked true
But enticing decisions inspired by the devil
Pressured you to get on his level
Based on recent experiences with a close friend
K Balachandran Dec 2014
Her attractive skin, mostly bare, in any clime looks alabaster,
Her heart, dark, envious green granite, rarely seen anywhere
had a hole drilled to pass right through it's coarse middle,
quite befitting for a 'crown crusted cobra', to snuggle within,
and inhabit, perfectly concealed, day and night, yearlong,
not on the eye shot of the prying world, it would remain
the unknown secret at the core of her enigmatic, existence.

Her eyes, shimmering embers of coal would entice,
any one smitten by desire, who dares to look at her face,
that vision of her from the very first sight remains frozen
though warped by spherical error,  incorrigible!
Her slur sounds music to her fawning admirers.
She was a metaphor, for a perfect baneful construct.

— The End —