Pure Poem by Atticus Mortimer

Pure



Ink splatters the page,
and out of seemingly random form,
arises art,
Pure art,
Raw and Unchanged,
and it raises a question,
who is the Artist?
I am, You are, Everyone is,
I am just a humble scribe,
writing all of our experiences,
as Art,
and Oh,
what magnificent Art it is.

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