A poem is a truth no longer,

for the self away from the past drift,

to death – her grand finale.

A poem is a clinging ghost,

for to doubt must doubts stand,

on the vision of the doubted.

A poem is a kaleidoscope shattered,

whose colours her creator cannot see,

when those forgotten memories hide.

A poem is a dead child,

a tragic weakness of the heart,

words the spirits engraved,

this death-loving art.

Published in: on 13/10/2015 at 6:48 AM  Leave a Comment