poetry

young plebeian

I come here, of preference
none speak of brilliance
as a younger man
as a plebeian
I played an ashen guitar on a perch stone
as the gray creek’s thin-froth murmur
mumbled its drunken poems
wide-eyed bluegills listened
warm sunshine glistened
with never a mention
of shame
as a younger man
as a plebeian
I was once
nearly forgiven

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Eric

I've come to write.

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