Dead Poets Society

Lips move, words echo.

Words resound,They’re all I’ve got.Condescension and derision are a part of the daily routine.I fight the fight that everyone fights. A dark soul adrift, a penchant desire for wit fueled by whim.Putting words to ink and bringing ink to life, that is how I hope to spend what little time I keep to myself. Troves of treasures within dungeons and taverns old, tis from this bocardo I wish to hoard. Only in dreams of words and wisdom have men always been free, ‘Twas always thus, and always thus will be.Truly,love is to pen what bequeaths a soul onto parchment wet with grime , tis fairly simple really, I want What anyone would want. It is for the world to know,
” I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,

I sound my barbaric yawp from the rooftops of the world.”

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