Patches of darkened ink.
A move in the dark,
That raised questions,
Written on a book of silk.
Colors and highlights,
For nobody to see.
Blisters making marks on the margins,
Pictures with glue; of utter glee.
Making lines in the sand with words,
Stopping the world with a touch of a hand.
Standing alone on top of a hill,
Ordering them to take a stand.
Don't hesitate,
It's an open page,
Write your elegy and run into the moonlight,
Care-free and useless, you laugh from delight,
At the very dreams you lost with age.
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