What happens when the words
are carried on the backs of angels
and thread themselves like strings from your heart
to the edge of your fingertips
like consciousness translated into poetry
a spiritual essence poured out only to be confined
and restricted to the page that binds them
what happens when newness fills you to the brim
forcing you to walk into new beginnings
that this flesh has yet to verbalize properly
I have not the answers to these questions
not yet
just inklings of miracles
from black colored ink
and fire coated passion
on white paper.
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