The Living

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As the bodies filed in the room
I saw Fitzgerald
Lighting another cigarette
He was shaking his head
“None of the great novels have happened yet.”
And as all the Kings men
Sat down
We looked at each other
And realized
Everything used to be gold
Everything used to be tangible
But now it’s covered in gray
With rumours of war
And wars
And someone spoke up
About the Jazz Age
And what it all meant
Fitzgerald rubbed the back of his neck
And said his new book
Would be sent to the troops
In pocket size

The moon came down
As we all left
Drinking too much champagne
Everything was famous
And everything had a name
We stayed late
And smoked too much
And wrote things down on paper
If we had a heart
We would’ve asked the women to dance
But we didn’t care anymore
Or maybe we forgot what it all meant
In any respect
We watched the skies differently that summer
And we left that unsuspecting youth
And became all too aware of our surroundings
And the happenings of the world

I remember the gold
I remember the piano
The music
The smoke
The dancing
I remember the care free manner
In which we all undertook creativity
What else was there?
“Whether it was going to be a hit or not,I still would’ve wrote the same book”
Fitzgerald kept saying over and over again ….

The moon was down
And war was on everyone’s mind
But some of us kept writing

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