InkA Poem by ALifeAquaticBlah“He must have looked up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivered as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass.” F. Scott Fitzgerald He stood cowering in the Corner of a page, Ink alkaline smeared across His face. Ink painting his face. Every little word drawn together, Every little word spun out- Fashioning his features: Tall Dark Handsome, Words. Each little phrase, “His hair glimmering in the sun, Illuminated by specks of golden light.” Page after page, Word upon word. Page after page, Word after word. And his face made up of Adjectives Expletives Verbs. Tiny little specks of Ink painting The picture. Painting the picture of his face. And he stands, Bold, daring me to turn the page. His face of ink His hands of paper, Set for eternity with a look Of contempt. Flesh and blood, How they wither. But pen and paper They merely lie forgotten. They grow moss. The ink may fade. But his face and his hands Still painted by Adjectives Expletives Verbs. But I turn the page, And he is gone! “The poor b*****d.” And all I can think of is Until next time. Bon Voyage, My friend. © 2010 ALifeAquaticAuthor's Note
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7 Reviews Added on March 1, 2010 Last Updated on March 1, 2010 AuthorALifeAquaticBelfast (Currently based in York, England), IrelandAboutBorn October 1st 1990 in Belfast (Northern) Ireland. more..Writing
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