Leave me on a desserted island with nothing but a pen and a piece of paper; with those, I shall create myself another world.

Saturday, January 14, 2012

The End

I watched him wither
diminished to pieces of burnt paper
like a story that has been told
a book that has been read
and lit fire to
I watched the pieces float into air
turn to ashes that sprinkled the floor
and in turn, vanished
what was left had gone with the wind
taken to a thousand different cities
a hundred different countries
keeping a small reminder constant
of a man that had lived
a man that had tortured
a man that had died.

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