A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.

RUNTIME

As if the spaces in between
Contained the rainbow,
A portent of colour 
Yet unseen,
Thoughts of yellow
Blue and green,
Life, before the living,
Imagining a sun,
A glistening dream of oceans
Lapping warm sands to run,
Expectantly,
Excitedly,
A new race in embryo, 
Waiting for the gun.
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