Spilled Ink
Art is god, filled with the essence of creation.
All the beautiful things webbed in broken pieces
of souls torn out from the mind into reality with ink.
Times and ages confirmed such immortal talents.
A tragic imagination raising perfection.
The spilled ink inputs patterns by deep inspirations.
Sourced from the wounds of the mind, healed on paper.
The moments tranced the viewers.
Peace be unto you, the magnificent duke
of sweet broth.
I am trapped in the liquor of art.
Erow.
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