It’s the
unorganized
mess
and
unusual
appearance
blotted all over
perfectly lined
paper
that makes
black ink’s
permanent
and
dark existence
its own
distinct kind of beauty
its mistake
of being
spilled over
and
splashed
across the table
will push it to
adapt and live
in a new environment
while forcing it to
tap into
its true
inner beauty
the type of beauty
no artist could ever
perfectly rearrange
on his eyes
I really like this one!
LikeLike
Thank you so much, you’re awesome (:
LikeLike
Reblogged this on Destination Sunshine and commented:
Great poem by a great poet!
LikeLike
No artist can rearrange, that’s cause it’s already a natural form of modern art.
Nice, especially to be able to write a poem on spilled ink.
How many can come up with that.
LikeLike
I try to create images from unique things & I can’t remember how I got to this one lol Thanks for the great feedback, very much appreciated
LikeLike
I really love this! I think it’s one of my favourite things you’ve wrote :) I just keep reading it :) well done!! It’s amazing :)
LikeLike
That is so cool to hear, makes my writing worthwhile when I get awesome complements! Thank you very, very, very much (:
LikeLike
Haha well you’re very, very, very welcome! :) I love your writing :)
LikeLike
Stop with the compliments! lol But thank you *again (:
LikeLike
This really spoke to me, on many levels actually. Wow! Thanks for sharing it!
LikeLike
You are so very welcome & it’s really cool that you could relate to it!
LikeLike
Oh my it totally did, I had to read it a few times over, so good!
LikeLike
That is beyond awesome, thank you for the millions of compliments (: lol
LikeLike
Haha you’re welcome, and thank you also (:
LikeLike
Nice poem! ^^
LikeLike
Why thank you!
LikeLike
I Love this! :)
LikeLike
Thank you so much! :D
LikeLike