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Literature Text
It was a sad day
Full of endless mourn
The day that the rhymn went away
And an age of sorrow was born
The day the unknown poet died
Leaving his written word
His grieving bride
His passion unheard
It was an eve of gray
Memories gathered in a box gathering dust
It was a dark day
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Long nothing left but bone
Ages of winds have blown
His words found by some ancestor unknown
Forgotten days now shown
Words written with passion
The ink long ago faded
The blood of his heart's compassion
Dug up from their dusty bed
Those forgotten words left behind
Now flow on tongue like some spell
Capture the heart and mind
Hold in awe and compel
It was a joyful day
As the poet was resurrected
Though time its toll did pay
Forgotten sins now corrected
Full of endless mourn
The day that the rhymn went away
And an age of sorrow was born
The day the unknown poet died
Leaving his written word
His grieving bride
His passion unheard
It was an eve of gray
Memories gathered in a box gathering dust
It was a dark day
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Long nothing left but bone
Ages of winds have blown
His words found by some ancestor unknown
Forgotten days now shown
Words written with passion
The ink long ago faded
The blood of his heart's compassion
Dug up from their dusty bed
Those forgotten words left behind
Now flow on tongue like some spell
Capture the heart and mind
Hold in awe and compel
It was a joyful day
As the poet was resurrected
Though time its toll did pay
Forgotten sins now corrected
© 2013 - 2024 JerryLangdon
Comments31
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(I found this from the "Unappreciated Works" section of #TheCritiquables)
From the first stanza, I couldn't help but be reminded of "the day the music died" as immortalized in Don McLean's "American Pie." Though as the poem went on, it felt less like that and more like "Eleanor Rigby." There were multiple stanzas driving home the point that the poet would be remembered by only his wife and his work would be lost to history. Then the inflection changed upwards as the work was rediscovered by some nondescript person, and now it finds new life in a contemporary setting. But...the poet himself remains lost and forgotten.
One comment I'd like to make: Stanza four, whether accidentally or not, has all four lines rhyming with each other. None of the other stanzas have this, making it stand out in my mind. Plus the varying numbers of syllables make it hard to establish a rhythm as I read it in my mind.
From the first stanza, I couldn't help but be reminded of "the day the music died" as immortalized in Don McLean's "American Pie." Though as the poem went on, it felt less like that and more like "Eleanor Rigby." There were multiple stanzas driving home the point that the poet would be remembered by only his wife and his work would be lost to history. Then the inflection changed upwards as the work was rediscovered by some nondescript person, and now it finds new life in a contemporary setting. But...the poet himself remains lost and forgotten.
One comment I'd like to make: Stanza four, whether accidentally or not, has all four lines rhyming with each other. None of the other stanzas have this, making it stand out in my mind. Plus the varying numbers of syllables make it hard to establish a rhythm as I read it in my mind.