Life

C L I C K
C L I C K
The keys hit the rough, white paper,
His small seat soft, squishy,
The light room filled with luscious sunlight,
The nice humid air warms his delicate soul.
C L I C K
C L I C K
He types,
Old wrinkly hands tough the textured keys,
Creating a beautiful symphony.
C L I C K
C L I C K
He types his life,
All the good and bad,
A sweet smile spreads upon his crimpled face,
S
L
U
R
G
H
H
C L I N K
The story of his life ended,
As did he.