Drowned Out
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With the doubt

Came the drought

Tried to write to wash it out

Thought and thunk and turned about

Read and write all day and night

But the thoughts turned all to shite

What could be his writings light?

To wanderings and potations he did delight

But no enchantment was there in sight

Could nothing belay his minds fight?

Then one cold and stormy night

On a dock with a rock did he fight

Went into the depths alright

A dead old boat did his rock bite

The cabins door was broke just right

And in through this watery plight

Was the books with the knowledge bound tight

In and out and roundabout did he exclaim and did he shout

Oh the library he ran throughout and perused and read and thought throughout!

Then the dread he could not get out

He could not best the likes of such magnanimous clout

And in the end when he found this out

Tore up his writing and threw em’ about shuffled and muffled disordered no doubt

Even this page was scattered about

All full of drivel and shittel and nothing no doubt!

My paper souls shall be always drowned out

By those who are better, will live forever and always escape this damn doubt drought!

-A poem from a collection of loose papers found in the Library.

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