Dust off your residue of the ancients;
Particles left by a never ending story
Leaving shelves a lowly glistening
Acrossed a curious world of quarry
Black and White and ink and pages
Deciphered slowly... differently
Obscuring thoughts throughout the ages
Cycling around Epics and rhymes
Given, altered, uttered over time
Forgetting the disfavored neutral
Series of candid chides
A leather bound diary
Acting as narrative to change the tides
A subtle hint of poetry
Prosed of purpose through the babes
Gilgamesh and Odysseus fight for Honor
Simply In the depths of fiction's grave
Uranus weeps in Alienation
As Gaia twists their "Titan's" fate
Transcendent statues states of mind
Wandering still, of what meaning is at stake
While a reader of the stars
Takes a chance, and makes a quip
"Constellations are simple dot connections,
As reading between lines are to a myth."
But is it of no great consequence
That the girl should skip ahead,
Foretelling mankind's finish,
Before they ever reach the end?
There's a trail of worn torn pages
Left blank before the word
But who will aid, to clear his path there?
Those aquatinted with the absurd.
A cloth of colors breathes forth life;
The spectrum hidden between black and white.
You're thinking "something strange is going on here"
And with that thinking, you'd be right.
With what instruments could one man venture
To maintain such an author's rights?
The lamp's been lit, stand on its edge
Search the bookshelf at it's heights
An epic tale of Truth awaits you
Hidden simply, beneath a leather bind
©palewriter
P