clasingla ✭✭✭✭✭

The poet once loved for his tongue to be praised Has been ever searching for those better days Where once the great town echoed those melodies with playful laughs about A sulken silence sweeps the town up from now Now with soundproof ears his audience gained for no benefit will be found There souls start fading faster their smiles melt away Confused why all that cherished him once thought dangerous entangling strings He saw them all be marionettes no soul or laughter did they make The poet decided to play one more song before he rested in his grave A piece of Beauty a beautiful serenade but only the river listened Reflecting on it the melotones of opal and a somber longing for hope that has been unwritten And there was laid the poets viola on a rock near that same stream His mark on the world a thing to remind of those oh so joyous memories One day a goblin came to the lake and smashed the viola into bits. Shards of agony, regret, and opal flew in every which way. The opals now stained from the mud hope drowned out in the muck. He stole the piece and broke the melody its meaning now long forgotten and use the notes from the shredded bloke to make an atrocity for all ears. yet the deaf people listened to the garbage noise. For their hearts now stone and cold. The poets hopes and dreams defiled his memory is nothing but a forgotten whisper among his broken legacy a song for none to remember
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