The Colour Black

the rough surface of rotten meat,

the stench of a worn tombstone

pitch clouds in a rumbling sky,

preparing to storm

a pen scratching the thick paper, ink

convulsing into words


different tastes, every time

bitter dregs at the

bottom of a mug

the acidic and icy-cold explosion

of an unripe olive

the chewy, sugar-coated tang

of a licorice stick


a symbol of unity and welcome

accepting numerous tints into its arms

a swirling mixture of infinite shades


indecisive at times,

unable to decide on a theme for its moods

choosing instead to dress


in a void

empty on the surface

but composed of everything.



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