The Era Given To Me.

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Blog Post About This Poem

The pencil on the tip of the fingers rolled,
As mind through countless folders inside passed,
The details of events so sparsely laid,
Ah’ faces never forgotten,
Memories recorded in association of things felt.

Modern day lifestyles cunning fought,
With yesteryears passion filled life,
Oh’ none cared about what is lost,
The generation sprouting unable to dream.

Decades it will take for a tree to grow,
Couple of hours to cut it down,
The fruits starts to rot the moment it leaves,
The fruits starts to rot the more on the tree it stays.
Freedom early or late Oh’ rot and stink it will,
Rot and stink it will.

Modern day to yesteryears will pass,
But to what memories will associate I know not,
Ah’ the phantoms of generations like zombies will wander,
With their sense with lead sealed,
Ah’ many great minds lost in the arrogance of the liberty lady,
Oh’ to what memories that will associate I know not.

A simple mind, a humble mind always will smile,
A good smile, wonderful smile will gain one smile in return.
There ends my union with the era given to me.

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