January 9, 2009

The Passing

the shallow halls are silent,
memories of distant past come forth.
screams of laughter and hate invade the mind,
but what once was a terrible accident.
shall soon come to rest for on this spot.
he did say the chosen words,
that made him what he is today .
the invisible guest, the poet, the martyr
but his spirit lives on for in these
halls he once spoke,
words from the heart now that heart
is divided no more shall it be one

as the visions of the past arise,
may he rest in peace,
with closed eye's he was a poet,
of all sorts romance, laughter and horror
but in the end, he was a man, with clouded vision
his feelings were spilled in blood
on the parchment of space everyone
read what he wrote, letting him slide on a high note as time went on,
he sat there and watched people wanted more,
they drained him dry he left for a crusade
the personal kind and when he came back,
all his friends were few to find...
so he laid his head to rest,
one cold and lonely night when his eye's closed,
they closed for the last time.
now all i said is true i say
ghost writer walks his way,
he may come in from time to time,
but then again, i may be lying.
who know's what this man will do,
not even i, his other you.


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