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Post by ladydragonrider on May 26, 2005 13:45:59 GMT -4
I sit at my desk, my pen in hand, Listening to a tape of my favorite rock band. I think of the past, Of how my fame could not possibly last.
Hardly the outcome I expected. The glory days gone, Never to be resurrected.
Silent resentment Of conspicuous matter. That I've climbed to the top Of my word bound ladder.
New ones come, and like skyscrappers they rise, Until I become the small one In their mutating eyes.
Burdened in the new, Lost and buried in the old, Wishing the circumstances were never true.
I wear a face of concern; But the reasons I grieve is for me to know, And you to learn.
Yet how selfish will I let myself be, when others escalate to great heights without me?
Is it not still a blessing to read with ones own eyes, When ones own work can no longer arise?
To see styles evolve for greater, In this never-ending sea. In something as great As poetry.
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