a writer never dies — stories never end
your character still breathes, I hear him
tied in metal chains (now rusting) you so selfishly gifted him…
he shouts, he sobs, he silently cries to sleep
but you! You who sowed the seed hate your plant yourself?
Forget to water it when blooms the flower, purposely killing it-
killers, murderers, they’re all sinners. Even if it’s ‘only’ a character.
I don’t get what your reasons are, why ‘hate’ exists as much as
it does, but:
a person with a pen must not let his ink finish so irresponsibly,
without at least granting his characters a life of eternity,
which they all deserve advertently. Immorality! Infinity!
A writer never dies, stories never end
Your character still breathes I hear him.
That man in the village, dying of cancer
That lady, old lady, crying for her child
That dragon, breathing fires, over the hills
That painter, mad, still staring at his stills.
The stroke of the hand, the bleed of the ink
That is what just, makes the hearts sink
A writer never dies, and stories never end
Your character still breathes, I hear him!
O warrior of words, uncaring and weak
It is through these them; your words do speak
The crying lady, the smiling child
The innocent girl, lost in the wild
The wicked clown, the magical gown
The serene village, the deserted town
That crying lady, asking for alms
Has she got food in her empty palms?
The smiling child, with enchanting looks
Is he now lost in the words of your books?
Does the lost girl still look for mates?
Has the wicked clown found the magic gate?
Do the dark, deadly ghosts still haunt the town?
Does the mad king still wear no crown?
Oh is it your ignorance, or time’s ruthless flow
That the gems of your ink have lost their glow?
That characters you owned, now seem strange
And alas! their whereabouts you don’t seem to know
Do visit the lady who is still in rags
The kingdom of yours has lost its flag
The smiling child is now strong and young
And the innocent girl sings songs unsung
Time has flown, and characters have grown
But they still feel an old pain, yet unknown
They rust and fade, for long do they wait
Please do visit them, before its too late.
Original Poem by Randomly Abstract
The second part is by VelaneDeBeaute
The third part added by me (Introvert)