But They'll Not Grow In That Grave

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem story about a person with writers block.

Submitted: February 15, 2017

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Content

Submitted: February 15, 2017

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Poems, stories, and songs

Not a one written down

Soon they'll all be gone

No where to be found.

 

If you don't pen them to paper

For the wide world to see

They'll all vanish like a vapor

Carried away by a wild breeze.

 

Memories you can't bring back

Nothing that you can remember

A ghost steam train, no smoke in it's stack

Fades away this gray December.

 

But it don't matter, water under the bridge

More blank pages tonight

Rolling down a hill and around a ridge

Flowing ink that never took flight.

 

It splashes over forgotten falls

To soak up an old lake bed

Not stopped by dams or by walls

But they're all laying there dead.

 

Laying at the back of your mind

Locked in limbo they'll stay

Waiting for that ripe and perfect time

But they'll not grow in that grave.

 

To late the crow of the cock

Crumbled up in a waste basket

For time ran out on their life's clock

The day they covered the casket.

 

Of poems, stories, and songs

Not a one written down

Soon they'll all be gone

No where to be found

No where around

No where around.


© Copyright 2017 Stormbird Throneshaker. All rights reserved.

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