Poetry

Jazzy Spill

The color of my quill,changes with the strength of my will.Sometimes, its strokes are blackbecause of the heart it lacksand the darkness it holds,hidden beneath its multiple folds.Often, its ink is pure whitebecause of the innocence it stores inside.It also paints the canvas bluebecause of the tantrum which life threw.At times, it changes to red,because… Continue reading Jazzy Spill