R I P
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.
January 25th, 2006 at 8:19 pm
Thoughts?
Yes. I have thoughts.
I think the poet is very far from dead. Very far from it.
What now?
January 30th, 2006 at 2:16 pm
An awkward silence.
January 30th, 2006 at 10:02 pm
Awkward silence? You know how to break that.
*shrugs* What you drinking?
February 8th, 2006 at 12:42 am
about the same as comes out the other end.
June 7th, 2006 at 4:59 am
Excellent write! Great entrance and exit to this poem…and lots of meat in between. I related this to a poet having writers block, yet pressing on. It may have had different intentions, but that is how I percieved it initially. After, rereading…I could interpet it in a couple different ways as well. Reminds me of a senryū I wrote about a year ago…
Writers block today
A brick wall has crossed my path
I write on the stone