Black in abundance

Black never has been a Colour.

The marks it brings with gentle strokes
And the nausea present in its absence
Is wasted in all of its abundance.

Silver is a trembling moth.
The cling sound swim through
That nostalgia air, it brings
Dreams and hope.

Aloud she spoke, mouth jabbed
A croc approached.
Sick, that explains my prejudice
Or that of my patriotic friend.
The one who creates for his own
Feelings of joy. 

23 march 2018