Jesse
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- Joined
- Jun 4, 2009
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The old familiar tome is worn and
in some places torn from years
of use. One last page is blank.
The old man knows his time is
nearly done. There's enough
room for one more, only one.
As he writes, he begins to tear.
His past is full of conquered
fears. He looks back on all the
years and hopes he'll be
remembered.
Heaven doesn't await him.
There are no flames after he dies.
He'll live on in the memory of
all of those he's known. The
day he passes, they'll look to
the skies and weep. The words
of his old tome, they'll always
keep.
To the ground he drops his quill
and reaches for his heart. It's
been many days since he took ill.
Even at the end he feels he was
never good enough. At least
he did feel loved by her.
in some places torn from years
of use. One last page is blank.
The old man knows his time is
nearly done. There's enough
room for one more, only one.
As he writes, he begins to tear.
His past is full of conquered
fears. He looks back on all the
years and hopes he'll be
remembered.
Heaven doesn't await him.
There are no flames after he dies.
He'll live on in the memory of
all of those he's known. The
day he passes, they'll look to
the skies and weep. The words
of his old tome, they'll always
keep.
To the ground he drops his quill
and reaches for his heart. It's
been many days since he took ill.
Even at the end he feels he was
never good enough. At least
he did feel loved by her.
