The mind's intention to be flashy is hard to contain. It is hard to satiate as well, a twin-paradox of sorts. Black and white bloomed to colour and made me feel like I've tried to say too much with too little that it gave the effect of a gagged-conversation between deaf-mutes.
actually wrote a poem to go with the picture, aimed to be mutually-explanatory. I don't think I got that effect, though. Hence abstaining from writing the same out.
Or very well, here goes:
Or very well, here goes:
winter smiles her toothy smile,
looking out from eye to eye;
her teeth are but a broken lot,
the night around in anguish, laughs
so wake up to the coming day,
go grow her out,
help burn this cave;
and something like:
stride ahead and reap some fun,
for like they said it, here she comes.
Don't blame me. I quit poetry - there's better in store elsewhere, or so I believe.
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