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 The Artist
 
He was the artist; the artist of dreams,
who never tasted life's juices and creams.
Two pennies spent -- his beggar's pay--
served him a loaf of stale bread each day.

He saw his past as a book of sorrow
and closed the chapters of his tomorrow.
He was the hobo, the tramp, the man,
who thought that from God he had been damned.

The sun didn't shine 'till after he'd lost hope.
He approached the tree, he secured the rope,
about to commit the ultimate sin;
he trembled as the rough noose touched his skin---

in the game of life, he threw his final ace.
With an empty stare painted on his face,
he crumbled the box; his neck bones shattered!
To this lifeless body nothing mattered.

And as I lay this orchid on his gray tomb,
I pray for his peace in his new found home.


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When the going gets tough, the tough get going!
 
χωρικός
30-01-2009 @ 15:09
i think it's very good Paula!
ekptwtos
30-01-2009 @ 15:36
And as I lay this orchid on his gray tomb,
I pray for his peace in his new found home.

::up.:: ::yes.::
frozenangel
30-01-2009 @ 21:10
Υπεροχο Paula !!!!!! ::yes.:: ::up.:: ::hug.::
iraklisv
31-01-2009 @ 01:15
Οοο Υες.
Helene52
31-01-2009 @ 03:15
And as I lay this orchid on his gray tomb,
I pray for his peace in his new found home.

Very Very good !!!!!!!!!
Good Morning Paula ::up.:: ::up.:: ::hug.::
swordfish
31-01-2009 @ 04:22
Lovely poem Paula!!!!! ::yes.:: ::up.:: ::kiss.::
k13739
31-01-2009 @ 06:48
Thank you all for stopping by. ::hug.:: ::kiss.::
EleutheriaPL
31-01-2009 @ 09:00
Graveyard poets the two of you. I do hope your final ace will be stronger than his. ::up.::
Δ.ΣΚΟΥΦΟΣ
02-02-2009 @ 00:52
He saw his past as a book of sorrow
and closed the chapters of his tomorrow.
::up.:: ::yes.:: ::up.::

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