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Death of a Writer

Wasn’t it your voice, where did it go

Lost in the noise, overwhelming echo

The past becomes a melancholic musical

Somewhat unusual to see you gone

It’s now your funeral  

Between disappearing and deceased

The feeling is still mutual

Sadness for the loss of something beautiful

Words can’t express, they simply aren’t suitable

I digress, the words of a writer are nonrenewable  

© The Sad Owl

Categories: poetry

Tagged as:

The Sad Owl

I'm just here. Until I'm not.

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