Flood

The freedom of a flowing pen.

Unlike any other

The silence of an ocean

Like the slicing of a feather through crisp, clear air

As the wind through the leaves of spring

And the caressing of waves against matte lake boulders

Faces smoothed by years of wear

Dull against the glistening ripples

Torrents of gushing ink

Tranquil and serene still

Still water trickling over

Pale, bare skin

Darkened in patches by a lingering sun

Waiting endlessly to explode into

peace—





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