Colorless Ink

Note: Probably one of my most random attempts in poetry.


He made a scratch on a paper

On a black, small square table

Ink colorless, blind transparent

No light, useless vision

But he kept writing in a dream

No single clue what it was

But he grew to accept it

He’d continue one way or another

He fell under the puzzles

Deep blue, mortals invisible

Starfish, sharks, and turtles

Sea nymphs dancing in violence

He shot through a maze

Old lions with dark manes

Grass was set ablaze

And gasoline you used to blame

Maybe he was running away

From the haunting past of greys

Maybe he was hiding below

Below the cunning sorrow

Or maybe he’d acknowledged

Possibilities he could fabricate

Using only his greatest intents

Above the wild and reality’s scales

He wished for endless wonders

And there he found uncanny islands

He carried a sword for an impact

Inside a little igloo he called utopia


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