Six feet under,
Feels like six hundred asunder.
A voice to be heard,
The words of this nerd.
Patience is his virtue,
As he stares for hours at a statue.
An inordinately profuse amount of mental tranquility,
But he will never boast about his humility.
Time will fly by,
And he will remain,
Like a preserved rose,
That forever glows.
He knows not of tomorrow,
But of today and yesterday.
He no longer wishes upon anything.
But he desires one too many things.
Oblivion will overcome him,
But not without a fight.
He may even win the battle,
But his WAR has only just begun.
Indirect expressions,
Written on paper,
In a sound-proof room.
Ignored by all.
One day someone will come along,
And prove that he is wrong.

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