The Death of Poetry

Jason over at Harsh Reality was able to put into words so eloquently, something I never could. He is a master at the keyboard. Worth the read, I promise you!

HarsH ReaLiTy

I stand before an open grave. Charred remnants of forgotten phrases lay upon a coffin of white. I long for what is held within… what I must do without from now on. Poetry is dead. I cannot find her hand in the dark without the help I so desperately need. I yearn for it, but I have made promises. It isn’t fair that I do not hold the talent to see the words I need, they vanish like the smoke I miss. I hear them pounding for freedom from within the grave as I quickly fill it with the dirt of anger. Anger… that is all that seems to find a home here now.

But I have made promises. They are far greater in importance than poetry. I will weep over her death later, but for now I drink. I drink to kill the dreams before they are born. I will…

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About Penny Lane Writes

I'm a Freelance Writer that writes in several genres. I've been blogging for more than 5 years and have a growing following. I am working on 2 novels that I hope to have completed in the near future.
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One Response to The Death of Poetry

  1. I am glad you liked the short write Penny and thanks as always for sharing it!

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