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White Blended Into Black.

Updated on December 11, 2009

White Blended Into Black.


Born out of the wet

darkness of a womb,
then pulled into a

glaring sterile room,
so pure, and sweetly

scented, pale white skin,
contains a precious soul,

unflawed and fresh.
till we exit in the

blackness of a tomb,
pressed tight between

white satin, and perfumed,
to hide the stench of death,

they seal us in,
till soon with mother earth

 again we mesh.


From an undeveloped

stage we wallow in

the amino acids

bursting in a flash

to our shots at life,

through all of the shudders

and the negatives

plus the positive views

of the world we know

to the final print on our

death certificates

polarized in flesh

where all men become

equal regardless of the

richness or poor quality

they revealed.


 We are all numbers

in the photo graphs

of existence,

collected eventually

in God's scrapbook of life.

For all that lies

between these

points is white
unpainted canvas

for blood, sweat, and tears,
where images are splashed,

both day and night
some leaked, or wept

as we share joys and fears
white teeth,
white bones,
whites of our

eyes expose

our smiles,


and what each pupil knows,
each day granted

where study makes it clear
that life is a blank paper

where ink spilled,
will eulogize our passing

when life's stilled
as white blends into,
black earth

gently tilled.




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