Singular type-face.
Hidden within impassioned shelves.
Where is the fire, the vigor, the colour?
Where is the passion of the young mind?
Stuffed into ten lined print on a stark white page.
Sitting asleep with boredom.
It passes through us without impact.
Unable to breath & dance & feel –
Within a plain blue cover, the incarcerated images
lay locked behind yellowing pages
and me along with them.
