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prettier than black

May your sheer brilliance give meaning to this madness

 Look up at the top, lies there

a heading, like a decapitated head

a curious thing, pretty at that.

But missing the rest of everything to it.

Shall I lay it to rest? Asked every voice of reason.

But look at it, just lying there, writhing, squirming;

a beautiful thing. Looking up at me,

demanding to be let out.


What are you, but a but a trinket,

a toy, an ornament, with no purpose;

A heading, with no idea to convey.

A thought with no congruence,

a glimmer in frozen time

as the train of thought roars past,

and through like a whirlwind blow.


After all, I sit at the study, my page blank

The brilliant bleach of the paper, though

seemed dark as obsidian, in its blankness.

And you are just a heading, with no context or cue.

A random gem of an idea, that demands to be let out.

So today, I shall get to work chiseling.

In this candlelight, I shall shape

this dark stone into a formless mass,

and you Shall be the crowning gem.

May your sheer brilliance give meaning to this madness.

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