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    When the world matures around me
    When time shall dance with my squeaking bones
    That my pen will succumb to the aridity of impotency
    And I shall be unable to write you, anymore
    Will you tell the world, who I was to you?

    When it shall come to pass
    That a researcher will study my poetry
    That a class will marvel at my lamentations
    That in all wrongs, I shall be labeled a courier of unrequition
    Would it make you proud of my tireless pursuit?

    When a mournful visage of you
    Shall carry a bottled ocean on your back
    To stupefy the earth with instructions about laxity
    To wade the land you make muddy with your hesitation
    Will the tempest have dwindled to a destructible power?

    When the time comes
    That the search of belle will be decorated
    Will you name an island after me
    And have my spirit hovering beside you in our new world?
    Would it take that long for you to see?
    When archeologists in the quarry of lust
    Will harvest my deposed desires
    And display them in museum and art galleries
    To show the nudity of your arrogance
    Will you at least visit?

    When the time comes
    That my pulsations will dwindle
    When the emptiness inside will decompose
    When seashells will still and break
    Will you remember I said I love you?

    Image Credit

    Eddy Ongili is Words Freak.

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    That poet Max

    That’s good stuff!

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