Where Have They Gone?

To the poet, the novelist or those who love to read,

where are the stories bold at last, have they all been freed,

to miss the talent of truth in magic, by words at center stage,

left behind forgotten quick but the world they did engage.

Ideas from minds penned so suave, like nothing ever heard,

chapter’s end or stanzas touch leaving beats so stirred,

beneath our feet the writers sleep, a gift now dark and still,

romance and mystery, a longing for mystic tales to thrill.

The plot to thicken, death to soon or murder left to guess,

end to end in rows with dust the books with such finesse,

ink wells dry, cursive's dead, their strokes again won’t rise,

names are known, awards have hung, how Nobel was their prize!

Left to memories and memoirs short, no longer selling best,

once in block, no pen to push, the ending was their quest,

tales are done, the best is gone, their wings are but a perch,

to find again those stories bold but endless is the search!

By The Humble Poet

From: United States

Website: https://allpoetry.com/Yammy

Instagram: @cammiejo77

Twitter: @cj__casa

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