Write and Wrong


It was unstopable.
From the moment I reached out,
to let the thoughts run from the tips of my fingers

to the unending horizon of white.
Time ended that moment.
Breath ceased and the world paused on its axis.

In a blink, the page was speckled,
and before me there was inspiration;
Its colors black and white.

Organized pixels that, when assembled
in such a form became

It is unstopable
Yet, it ceases everything for just that moment
Each time I begin.

This moment, that moment,
and every moment since,
Poetry from has been unstopable.


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