i was told to write a poem... this is what came out of it: words in a row, a pattern, a rhyme dark, dreary, they tend to define repetition of this my words did show boredom with my pen began to grow my pen only inked dark and dreary I demanded something close to cheery My pen then sat, on the paper, a rock Uncharted emotion, the words didn’t flock With no gaggle to define oneself The papers went onto the shelf Dust then covered the words over time Now no words in a row, a pattern, or rhyme.
Posted on: Sun, 16 Jun 2013 07:19:38 +0000
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