New poem today – all that fresh air’s been good for my inspiration levels!
I could write between the lines
Of your history books
To tell you all the things you’ve missed
All the lies you’ve told
In neat little script
Tiny between your big lines of bold typeface,
But you’ll never know because
By the time you’ve written your trusty tomes
I’ll be long dead and gone
Lost to history’s cold past
My bones bleached white by time
And my knowledge lost to you forever.