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The Lost Few

The man who is the one to have drawn the line is in debt to the others,
For he has stifled the young children’s play
And made the young man grow weary.
Twas his righteousness that set the blind apart.
Twas his stoicism that made the deaf keep heart.
Twas his patronage that kept the shard.
Twas his madness that stood as a guardian of peace.
Twas his insanity that has drawn a line in those of niche,
So now, we keep.
His elaborate speech was without meaning in the termination of it all
As all has been lost to you, my dearest companion.

Doesn’t have any use…

I have concieved

A newfound conceptulization of knowledge

Though, I don’t know about the creative use it could ever possibly achieve

And how it would become acknowleded

Though I want to believe

That it should be accomplished

I spend all of my nights naive

as I push for my work to become relished

My sweat drips down my brow as I grieve

for this to mature until it’s embellished

All the different thoughts interweave

My mindset metamorphosing to a status of being zealous

And now I just can’t believe

What’s happened to my precious

outrageous dream I percieved

as I stand there breathless

I can see

it’s essence

I’m relieved

my work’s presence

is almost sezied

One last sentence

My work is complete

My only question

What the hell does it do?

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