The Last Line

Been so long yet again 
With those mere words had no game
No sorrow no pain
No solitude no solitary on my name.
Would credence earlier but now skeptical
About the skill that made me surely amiable.
The Last Line is not The Last Line.

When away from the pen
Is not an observant really away.
It's just far too far to imagine them
The notions shattered like particles on the runway.
Would be happy earlier but happier now
About the skill that made me surely lethargic to hear that wow.
The Last Line is not The Last Line.

When I was water 
I could be shapeless and scatter.
As much as more than I can think over
As much as more than optimum could limit for.
Would be gloomy then but bright hence
About the skill that made me surely iconic over the lens.
The Last Line is not The Last Line.

When I assumed it to be a talent 
Realized it's a skill with bearers latent.
Over the Glenn over the fence 
Hides away the words ages and ages hence.
Would be  shallow then but fathom extends deeper 
Deeper than the sky than sea or the ocean water.
The Last Line is not The Last Line.

When I felt am dead
I knew I was born.
Long time no see to the fearless  misery on the shelves of unicorn
So majestic to the reading eyes yet left to be read.
Would be easier then but now am peculiar 
In an ornate way impalpable and oblivious to you together.
The Last Line is not The Last Line.

When I say The Last Line is not The Last Line.
I definitely mean for more to come  and go
For the mere words of mine
That will stay forever steady and slow.
Would be longer earlier but now it's shorter
For the lesser yet deeper, I myself grow as a writer.
I repeat, The Last Line is not The Last Line.