Can’t be wiped from the stone,
For it rises permanent,
Etched in by the hand of a great mind,
A tale he had to leave to the abandoned,
A tale of guys world, his passion,
I can’t read what was left behind, for it must be discovered,
If it hasn’t been broken,
The myth, it’s of love, turning to death,
Look through the forest fire
And find the telling of the two hearts
That perch on the neighborhood street corner,
Put the pieces together if needed
To engulf what was left in stone.
the_dorian_poe's Blog 