The End of a Chapter

tonight one of many nights
a tender invitation rose
from lips so bright..

write me a poem..
write me a prose
tell me a story
I ask of you I pray..

The poet sat in constenation
for his face a blank page
his thoughts a penned foray
inscribing in feathered ink
a little poem of sorts..

"there in a little stellar
stood a tall table of wood
mahogany perhaps
its make
catching the sunlight
from a roofless brickhouse
red its color
the clouds an astute white

Silence beckoning
as the leaves rush is heard
the bugle at a distance sounds the call
Marching ahead  men of war
stood upright
The fight for freedom
tilled in each one..

The table a possession of a man
of much wisdom,
the clouds played witness
as he stroked his end of a chapter
of the bloodless relation between
the pen and its victor

The pen an aide
to a bloodless war for freedom
seldom used thus
as compared to weapons of mass destruction



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