![]() Grave KeeperA Poem by unspokenpain![]() poetry speaks![]()
I'm the one that drives spikes in graves,
gives homes to the dead, and the one who you'll never see. You know, I don't work in a cemetery. Oh definitely not, as I'm just a writer. Still, my work is that of a grave keeper. So many lives I have, so many lives I bury. My pen is not a sword, my words are not a place to call home. My pen is a shovel that digs deep, a chisel that carves the stone. As people begin to fade, my pen begins to work. As souls begin to leave, I grab my pencil, I grab my spade. The work of a writer is not that of life, but that which comes after. When people leave this world, they will leave behind their words. These lifeless words that dig not just the earth, but words that dig so much deeper. As a writer I state that I will leave a shovel, a shovel that showed my job, my job as a grave keeper. © 2016 unspokenpainFeatured Review
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2 Reviews Added on June 6, 2016 Last Updated on June 6, 2016 Author![]() unspokenpainCAAboutPoetry speaks when my words can't. Watch me dance with words. Watch me create a world. I will undress who you are. Realize the masochist inside of you as my dominating words grasp that which lets you .. more..Writing
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