The sky is painted with a million colors. Like it's being slashed with a pallet of hues. They are all mushed and smeared together. Soon to be murdered by the dark of night. Nothing left but the memory. Soon to be forgotten by the feeble human mind.

The sky is painted with a million colors. Like it's being slashed with a pallet of hues. They are a...

This is a sestina poem.... But alas, the hues paint the memory They continue to slaughter the night together And still, in my mind are a million colors Show more
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