Posted in poetry

Song

Maybe it was a song
A song he sang so well
Or
Maybe

Maybe

it was the tone
Rather the words that drew me in
A moth to an open flame
Long story put short
The heat produced was great and warm
But the burns were 3rd degree
They left a scar
They marred
A canvas dripping in crimson

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A poet wise enough to perceive, the world can never be changed but dense enough to still seek the unattainable.... Kudzai Chidamba.

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