Little King of Sorrows
Slothboy and I
Slothboy and I,
watching years pass us by,
our mysteries and capers,
spilled upon tattered worn papers.
The struggle of life,
usually portrayed by a knife.
We laugh and we read.
A feast of poems to feed.
See what I found?
I kept some around.
He buried it deep.
This book he did keep.
Angry and jaded.
Our ink never faded.
Demons and Angels.
Our life from all angles.
A decade or more,
So descriptive the gore.
Friends that we had,
The good and the bad.
When I get me some time,
there are many a rhyme.
I do wish to share.
Walk through our minds, if even you dare!
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Slothboy and I by Little King of Sorrows )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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