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The Write Reaper
November 1, 2016
Birth is like a blank page,
Clean and easy
Full of babbling words and honest sentences,
With millions of ideas waiting to flourish.
Then young creativity is lost and adolescent hands get tired,
Frayed paper loses breath, begins to gasp;
Letters get hard to read…
Yet hope remains as death hovers.
While the final chapter screams to be written.
© Martha V., Morton Grove, IL
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