A still life

The great unwritten lies within,
locked away in the incense cedar,
haunting the graphite darkness.

Fabulous oeuvres wait to emerge:
stories to melt the stone cold hearts of planets,
prose to win over a human race,
poems to lavish on a bronze princess,
tales so tall, they scrape the sky;
and all it will take is a few simple strokes
of Hard Black abandon
and a life that's anything but still.

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