There is a room in a tower
And as you
Draw near
Each step
Each stone
And floor
And
At
The
Bottom
Room
There was a table in the middle of the room
On the table
Was a typewriter
The walls were covered in ink
In
The
Distance
Was being written
On the wall
A plea
For I was
visible by someone’s eye
To love me forever and ever
Even when ink goes empty from my pen
To love her
I, the hopeless of hopeless men
Who look for love
Could never refuse such a request
I was
to wait
In this
room and see…
Aging with her and we would live together
Yet she never appeared not once
But treasures arrived in rooms on random floors
With
a
Single
Present
In
the
Room
In another room empty
Filled with boxes of treasures bequeathed to me in times
I needed
I wait swinging along tress 170 years old
Outside the ink wall room
To ones day
See
Whether
What I have
Wondered of
love,
Is it
Near or
Far?
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