Untitled 03/04/2016

I once opened a book.
blank pages stirred my mind.
an urge to write took hold.
I picked the pen and wrote.

words like black holes devoured
the whiteness of the clean slate.
by their overflowing black ink,
they birthed chaos out of nothing.

the book now lies dusty
in the attic of darkness,
lost to this newly-imprinted
insecure consciousness.

03/04/2016 © Waseem Sherif

Author’s Notes:

• impromptu piece that started about ‘something’ then ended up about ‘something else’.
• I haven’t been writing seriously much lately. the modern consciousness is smothering me! 


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