The Literature of Georgia Gray

My novella is prose for the tongue tied lover
They emancipate their wind torn voice,
For sullen silence of apocrypha
Georgia, their crevasse for undying silence.

The pages lost like Atlantis,
The phrases forgotten like God
Their past discarded for futures,
Promising ill fate but liberty
Promising love but no harmony
My novella is a promise so sultry
Prose for the Medieval poor,
Posing a promise that time tore.

This literature veers into realms,
As gravity toils and overwhelms
My heart to disperse and emerge,
Like the gray charcoaled mountains that splurge
In the backdrop of Georgia's gray woods
But the lovers, pupils tightly tied,
Could not read as they stood
In the backdrop of Georgia's gray woods.