iN tHE DArk

iN tHE DArk
  

The old poet sees - a black inkwell
pour down upon her work - undisciplined
a soul exposed - turned out again
forever tossing - words and wind  

  
And so the ink - fills up the page
obscuring brilliance - every mark
- if you upon the sea - find words
like these, were written in the dark 

 

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