Saga After Its Time

We weren’t written in the stars

We were born as an idea

Written on the back of a receipt in Cupid’s pocket

We are the story that broke an age long writer’s block

We are the making of a rebellious mind

detesting easy roads and simple decisions

We are the color in a life full of grey areas

The beauty in distorted faith

We bleed dreams and curse irony

No more penny candy sweet love

We are the long afternoon nap after your grandmama’s feast

overindulgent but satisfying

Written by arthritis ridden hands

Too proud to send us straight to “the cloud”

We do not exist where hope goes to die

We are a saga after its time

We are ridden with smudge marks and scratch outs

unedited and unsanctioned

We are a broken piece of art

No one will appreciate

Until we turn to dust.

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