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cocooned to the emptiness of your page
you don't get to remember your last thought
after you're dead
so it's a far far better world to leave if the thought
you think is dipped in dark dark ink
soon even your most excellent poem will leave your breath
and maggots
will invade your space, you will burn throughout eternity
with the apple in your throat and Paradise will not even
be a memory fading from white-lilies of existence.
Adam and Eve have reconciled and the serpent coils
on judgment day. God is in his glory and the devil
was in the details, after all.
You've written all you could but it was never enough
to split even a hair on a spider's leg
You were perfect once, before you started reading poems
in lost cities that turned you away..
Review Request (Intensity):
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words:
The first lines of this poem came to me last night and the rest filled in the emptiness of the page and it looks like a poem in memory of a Neo-poet.
Editing stage:
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Comments
CCfire
Mon, 2011-07-11 06:45
The fine poets never die they
The fine poets never die they are recreated in books, one would never deign to be as good as they who we call the classicists but perhaps fame is something that only happens after a person dies..or do we simply forget and move on? I prefer the former, at least books are the reminder someone was a poet.
Chez
"The perfect woman perpetrates literature as she does a small sin: as an experiment, in passing, to see if anybody notices it - and to makes sure that somebody does." - Nietzsche
raj
Mon, 2011-07-11 23:20
no one really knows..no one
no one really knows..no one can tell ..that's the mystery ...
raj (sublime_ocean)