A Better Sequel -By Zach Broniszewski He voluntarily stole the greatest memories from your own eyes, As if not ripping out a page from his ironic romance, But simply not including it. And if I were this same unreasonable author, I wouldve made your obsession with certain verses at least those that foreshadow, Only then would this ink cry as you do. I wouldve buried your thoughts somewhere in your favorite chapters, Only then would you share something with an anonymous author. But you chose to fall for a passion in his sweet character, Halfway through his own creation of a tragedy. His pages favored the same eyes of which he took from, Something only one with a secret conclusion would do. You called for intimacy yet chose to seek indulgence in the climax, And if you really cared for poetic substance, I wouldve used the rest of the ink, From this; my last pen, To provide you with a picture of a million empty. You fell for the taste in his clever literature, Simply because you forgot how to feel your own emotions. He knew how to serenade your mind; With his ultimate motive: Running out of ink as you were forced to close your passions; For his horribly timed plot twist. So why? Why give in to temptation, Merely because this character; Youve never read about before? His clever game of trickery: Using quotes to awaken your lust. Maybe the only reason he, himself chose to pick up a pen. He fed you an imminent fantasy, And satisfyingly watched as you swallowed hope; More than spoonfuls at a time. And so you fell into his deliberate trap, But thats not to say one with no way out. I would rather use the rest of this ink, To guide you into your lost emotions. I will not become the same thief he chose to be as you chose to follow his spurious setting, And I will rewrite his ungrateful resolution. I will not tell of the same alluring tales, And this ink; with a different motive, Will not run out had I already not written about true love. All so that your eyes can forever capture something much less bitter, Than the words he chose to use. Either way I believe, That as I unbury your favorite chapters, You were always yearning for the hand of a poet who meant what he stated, And genuinely needed to know that of which he asked. Even more, I will yet make use of his empty pen, Just one; whose ink, if found again, Will always have been written with selfishly. And if I had the power to pull ink off of a page, And provide you with the one he forgot to include, I would not. I would not because it was perhaps his pathetic, empty pen, That will have restored your lost emotions with a future no longer equal, And gifted me with the empty pages, To perhaps write our heavenly sequel.
Posted on: Tue, 24 Jun 2014 00:49:08 +0000