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Rated: E · Prose · Contest Entry · #1451241
Writing about a town which no longer exists depending on my muse to guide me.
I am the Writer

Oh to be in the south at nighttime,
the sun has gone down
the crickets’ and frogs come to
Serenade the the night.

This time of night my muse doth flow
my brain so full my pen takes flight but cannot
keep up with speeding thoughts.

I walk gently to the glider feeling the bare wood
savoring the motion as if for the first time.
I think about my imagination, it drifts.

Why should I write?
I wonder why I feel these people, their shame in being poor and hopeless.
Do I do it
so others will share the experience and not feel so alone?
There is a city in the south it exists no more.
Complicated people with no history abound.

I research the facts of a city
named Glen Mary,
a picture of the spot it immortalizes
where coalminers created their own
sense of peace; poor and knowing no
difference in race. Coming out of the mines all
black with coal dust, no difference in color.

All living in
rows of houses, all the same size,
Like shadows of another, twins multiplied repeatedly.
A commissary store, the company possesses.
It takes charge of their life none other they know.

The people a greater shade of tan, smooth, with deep set, almond, shaped eyes.
Eyes so green and deep, pupils dark and soulful.
You need not look for an answer as they stare back at you
they cannot tell.

Without your dark sense of brooding,
The voice and hand of the writer creating
What they were... I start with
their raven blue/black hair, straight, thick appearing to be coarse but velvety like the thread of silkworms.

Shunned by society their veins contain the blood of the Indian, black, and white, mixed
as if poured into a flask and shook, poured then into a mold.
They were here but where did they go?

The people had their own money, of this there is proof.
I lay my head down as the glider slips away,
Dreaming of the people captivating personalities of their own.
I am the writer waiting patiently
until the Glen Mary folk come to visit
me and tell me their dreams.
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