The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling.
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven,
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

-W.Shakespeare

Tuesday, 13 August 2013

Black Water

“I am but a vessel 
who treads through 
troubled tides” 
-a warning to the reader.

There-
was paradise on the water black,
before I turned my back.
There-
is a man pouring
a barrel of oil on a boring
bikini clad model this morning.
There-
as she posed in the sand
he touched her with his hand
saying, “Sorry- for destroying the land.”
There- 
is a black oil slick,
a rainbow in the sand, 
a beach once loved, makes me sick,
I hope you understand. 

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