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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