The truth is never
black nor white,
nor square nor round,
nor cubic nor pyramidic,
nor an army of red ants
nor a clutch of clucking hens.
Nor a stutter of a gun
nor deadly looks.
It's a momentary whorl
in a placid sea,
a sudden chill
on a torrid afternoon.
A leftover patch
from a faded dream.
An inking denied.
- Max
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this is so beautiful and true, max. in these few symbols we find enlightenment. xoxoxoox
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