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Story

Sweet, rough, tender tome of time
Offer me a story, lend me a rhyme
Something that pulls me over the written line

I witness the pen, marking the paper
Every slightest gesture becomes black ink
History in a safe, hiding cover
Judged by it’s unique looks

The return to previous pages
can’t erase the engraved
Vagaries trough numbers of ages
Won’t fill up the blank

A journey devoid of forecast
No ones’ voice will say the ink is dry
It’s to strive for progression
Into perseverance

Lothlorien

16-06-2006

Lothlorien

Geregistreerd op:
16 juni 2006

Beoordeling

Leden (7):

4.6

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