EPOCH POETRY NO FURTHER A MYSTERY

Black is the colour of my minimal brother’s intellect, the grey streaks in my mother’s hair. Black is the colour of my yellow cousin’s smile, the scards upon my neighbor’s wrinkled deal with…is a means of claiming the reality that hurts that has a snicker, a technique for capping on (shutting up) an individual. Receiving even conversing b

Black is the color of my minor brother’s head, the grey streaks in my mom’s hair. Black is the color of my yellow cousin’s smile, the scards on my neighbor’s wrinkled facial area…if tomorrow’s black poetry is not going to Demonstrate what on earth is but BE it then pens are going to be electric powered with sensation igniting and the pa