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November 6, 2005 - A poem about Words


Have you heard?
The poet is dead.
Silenced in descent
Of crouching night.
Forgotten now
By mortal winds
And things that speak
To breathless souls
Or hearts entwined,
Out amongst
The nebulae.
But don’t be sad
For errant voice,
No longer felt
And whisper stilled.
Thoughts, are such
Temporary things.
When you hear
This poet is dead -
Carve some words,
In stone.


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