Writing Process
In a sense of victory
I hold up what is mine
All these years I worked on
My own life and times
Putting ink to paper
In a leather cover fine
Hoping that someone would read
My life, love, and rhymes
The days in sun
And when snow whined
In the time where love won
And souls were kind
I converted this life
To a physical type
And amidst loss, love, and strife
I have tears to wipe
What of this book
That no one will read
It was a tree cut, and shook
It had memories
A young woman
Once sat at its base
Peeled and ate apples
With memorable grace
A young man
Brought by a date
Joined the young woman's hand
Under a tree of fate
An age later
Men have came
And these traitors
Gave this ancient, pain
In a sense of sadness
I take down what is mine
This item is madness
Murder redefined
I recycle my work
And tell of the tree
And all it was worth
Came with words from me
Copyright © Justin Street | Year Posted 2010
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