183. Comic 

I visited an independent comic book convention in Toronto the other day. It was as fascinating as it was humbling. The labours of these artists, sometimes maligned as childish by popular media, are intricately honed interpretations of the world. Beautiful projections of inner truth, through a medium that combines visual art with written word. I wrote this poem about comics. 

Inside lies something that ties us all to common truth, 

And some may sing whilst others rant and other do not do.

She picked a pen, delicate blue. 

He scripted prose, verbose in view. 

Together weave a story new, 

To speak something to me and you. 

(Photo – Eli Woodbine, Canada, Toronto, 2016) 

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