Poem Number 1193

Silence lives in memory alone- in Memory and in Death.
Revolt brews behind silver screens dead beats wear as shades.
Death lives in the graves as so do the souls within
as all life begins to fade
gone in the surrounding shadows
Gone with the wind...like nothing matters anymore
.....never again
will my lead touch the paper. Unless
a pencil murderer comes and breaks the lead and the pencil and the pencil dies
But the small, pink erase...lives on. And wants revenge for its FRIEND!!
and when the eraser goes for revenge, it gets erased to death.