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Book / Science Fiction
Short Story / Religion and Spirituality
Short Story / Poetry
Short Story / Poetry
Who will read mye poetry will there be a lieberry in the future of
mankind where people turn the books like dimes spent in the slot will
they find CharlaX in the melting pot of crucible so many more
deserving people write the Asimov and the Heinlein will always be the
ones the children want. Perhaps unheeded the book of CharlaX Prose
sits on the very last row and gathers dust and moss. Will the last
lieberrian perhaps just read the covers one last time and pause. Take
down the CharlaX book with trembling hands long used to reading love.
And he will never read another book because he fell in love with poem
prose and the way this man writes things from his heart he started a
reading journey that will not soon depart from start. What is the end
of time but novels in our hands the sky shoots clouds across the day
turns into night the flashlights come out and still we would not part
with book for death. Depending on what is it about not the length for
eye have read some very long books because eye was interested and life
itself took second place the bed forgotton eye must keep reading
Father Mother dear eye am going camping to sleep in mye bookreading
again. Perhaps the lieberrian will find all the charlax poems so
interesting he will make a light at nite perhaps a General Store left
open in the holocost with a flashlight and several thousand batteries
on hand after all he has the time. He handles each page with alacrity
of age fingers start at the edges and stop and start in a paroday of
confused moments meant to halt the passing of time and enjoying some
one elses writtings oh to be able to write like this how does this man
pen these odes of wisdom. Then one day the book of CharlaXProse falls
from withered hands as the man goes gently to his GOD and life is
gone. He sleeps like all the rest of them the bombs have come but for
several days perhaps weeks a few months of time perhaps years had come
and gone the death of falling bombs have missed the old liberrian.
Long enought for him to find a reason to read and light the night.
Read all the poems Who Will.
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