Ink is the color of sky before dawn.
The artist of dreams.
The author of books.
The chill side of day.
The cover for secrets.
The time for creation.
With its ink, we mirror the universe.
Lights from cellphones
Flickering colors from TV Screens
Blinking street lights
Beaming headlights
Covered Flashlights
Burning torches and lanturns.
Shining stars we become.
It is here where our skies match those of the other stars.
Constant reminders about the gentle side of darkness.
And its humbleness.
It never stops being itself and always lets the light take the spotlight.
From its expanse, something bright is always shining through.
An inked canvas bubbling with sparkling gases
Like a shaken plastic bottle of soda.
So sweet, so fizzy, and perhaps, painful.
Something so bad, yet how is it so good?
Alas.
Alas.
Darkness...
Thank You.
YOU ARE READING
Collection of My Poetry
PoetryJust putting up my poems, good and bad. They're just here... so if you feel like reading them then go ahead. No need to follow me or vote, but please comment on the poems. I would like to improve and spread poetry to all who love it. Update: 2/26/20...
