Open Poetry #44 |
Endless Pages |
americangothic Junior Member
since 2008-11-11
Posts 45 |
A poor poet polished his pen gathered the grouping of verse second hand suit stained with dank desperation poverty pained and perverse rubber bands rounded the readings sweat sat on silvery hair holding the heart of his life's fascination clutched in perspiring pair time had invoked the robed reaper cancer would come without care driving his dreams to the last destination crying for someone to care No prints were made of his pages wisdom was woeful and worn ragged and wrinkled, this ancient equation his parchment too tattered and torn silent, his soul had surrendered solitude save for his pen packing away his poetic salvation to never be gazed on again |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
You tell that poet to drag out those papers... and send them to me. I'm a keeper of lovely works...and awesome writes. Brings to mind a past poem of mine, told about in a novel I had published, partly based on realty, of old books and old writings, picked up and treasured by a woman. Nothing is ever written for naught. And I'm rambling. Good poems do that to me. Thank you! |
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Margherita Member Seraphic
since 2003-02-08
Posts 22236Eternity |
So beautifully written, yet so heartwrenchingly sad. The conclusion is an assumption, he might well be read and loved one day, who knows. Anyway, I do hope this is fiction. Love, Margherita |
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Marchmadness Member Rara Avis
since 2007-09-16
Posts 9271So. El Monte, California |
Since I was a young girl I have discovered obscure poems in strange places that I have kept for years because I think they have worth and I will one day pass them on to my daughter and granddaughters along with my own. You never know who's out there... reading and appreciating. Ida |
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