Thursday, October 2, 2014

Death of a Pen

Death of a Pen

This empty pen
Shall soon be dead,
And we shan’t see it
          No more.

Life blood runs low
And soon shall not flow
It knows not what
          This was for.

This poor, sad poem
Will not go in a tome
And will soon be forgotten
          With age.

As the pen cruelly dies
They stutter with lies
On how the ink was spilled
          On the page.

Its death now shall end
But it never will mend
The sadness of an
          Untimely death.

Goodbye, is the cry
As it flows to the sky,
And now there’s no more
          To be red. 

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