The Forgotten Book, Hayden Turley

(A POEM OF DESPAIR & HOPE)

EMMA HARRIS, 11 The river of inspiration runs dry, The bundles of myrtles have begun to die, See the sun hang low in the blood red sky, Like the tail of a dog that cannot cry.

The passions have perished to dust, Blown away in shame by a gentle wind, All it takes is one subtle & suggestive gust, And all the visible lights are dimmed.

Roads of our youth led to dead ends, See all the children following mindless trends, The further the soul transcends, The more into madness the mind descends.

The poets are hiding in the hills, And there’s no way to entice them out, Bluebirds come to this barren land no more, The artists no longer know what life’s about.

The mountains crumble in anguish to the sea, That’s begging the sky to set her free, Wisdom obtained by the sting of a bee, Means everyone lives less wise than they should be.

There’s no sure point & that’s the point, Meaning is found in the sky or the dirt, The muscles need to have at least one joint, The only motivation is to objectify all the hurt, And pray to make it beautiful.