Where You Can Speak Your Mind and Share Your Soul
Death To A Poet
Words now succumb
Didactically mute
Essence purged
Skeptically abused
Maimed is what we say when a poet lacks lyrical potency
For when once a wise scribe now reduced
Technical envisage cut all but cut loose
Harboring pain
Yet this chain that has confounded the masses
Seeks to be loosed from the grave
Six feet under lies the brain
This lyrical prophet in which now a proverbial dust claims
All that's left is the frame
Sounds of the mind covered by chains
Gifted pen filled with invisible ink
Fingers rigor mortis
Inscents that once burned now fill the room with stink
Death to a poet is not a state to be obtained
Although the body has life...
Living is ultimately...
not the same
Rod B. I miss my fam.... holla back
Didactically mute
Essence purged
Skeptically abused
Maimed is what we say when a poet lacks lyrical potency
For when once a wise scribe now reduced
Technical envisage cut all but cut loose
Harboring pain
Yet this chain that has confounded the masses
Seeks to be loosed from the grave
Six feet under lies the brain
This lyrical prophet in which now a proverbial dust claims
All that's left is the frame
Sounds of the mind covered by chains
Gifted pen filled with invisible ink
Fingers rigor mortis
Inscents that once burned now fill the room with stink
Death to a poet is not a state to be obtained
Although the body has life...
Living is ultimately...
not the same
Rod B. I miss my fam.... holla back
Replies to This Discussion
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Permalink Reply by OneLove on -
Ahhh, the everchanging state of the mind...emotions and reality intertwined...those who seek release...tossed through the turbulent winds of existence...ultimately find peace ;-).
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Permalink Reply by Flowrite on -
Seriously, depth, death, cheating the messenger, all that's left
Regained when we spit
The ink that choked in hand
Nicely done POET
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Permalink Reply by Natural Diva on -
Yet still, there's a speck of light
One more breath inhaled,
Flourescent lights reveal a masterpiece,
Unveiled
Written by a pen, once thought to be empty
Could it be?
The Poet has been resurrected
Once more,
He is set free!
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Permalink Reply by Dark on -
The path is now distant...
so the journey begins again
who are you lost poet...
sounds whisper within
it is not a question anymore
just a statement of truth
the shell is what you were
immense unbearable
cancerous cantankerous
a fluidic ominous hue of who you tried to protect...
but in the process began to neglect... till it's death
Your nature asks; when cancer dies... who cries?
if the perceived cancer was who you have become
what's left?
time to surmise the basics of who you were meant to...
and seek truth to renew it in you
exhale all ails
inhale
His Breath.
C. V. Dark
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Permalink Reply by RodB on -
Aw Man I missed a whole lot while I was on vacation...... oh my.......... I back now............... My fam is back yayyyyyyyyyyy
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Permalink Reply by Dark on
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Dang Rod... You come back and now I gotta leave... but I will finish before my vacation starts... Our Girl Sable is back too... Show some love!
RodB said:Aw Man I missed a whole lot while I was on vacation...... oh my.......... I back now............... My fam is back yayyyyyyyyyyy
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Permalink Reply by Flowrite Davis on
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Okay Rod B. My brother Poet
I can only respond with Bravo. I love this Rite.
And I hope you don't mind this additional reply written 2007:
Death of the Poet
You need not worry
or ask
How the poet feels
Lest you know the messenger
In pursuit of souls
searching for death
of words bleeding in truth,
washed and hanging
under madness from morning light
and midnight hues
The poet’s addiction
occupies a sleepless passion
where surreal visions
are the only living
choice of death’s wake
Bedded behind the sun
You can see his eyes
folding stained sheets
with words torn and tattered
from his mind’s eye
taken before time
A peaceful wind quilted
From stitched memories
Covers his thoughts
with hope’s eclipse
occupied by an insistent
breeze haunted with the insanity
of persistence
He spits,
blindly of love
sounds of pain plays
in the face of charity’s bitch
like static snot on a carpet
waiting for your understanding
and response
As the messenger, he carries
The Crypt filled with spoken words,
poetry and prose
garnished with life crying for
the perfect dream
Which is the real poet’s journey
Is death, the tool for each time he wakes
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Permalink Reply by RodB on
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Flowrite write on............... I welcome all responses....... my poetry is to be used....... that's why I write...And I love it......I am really loving this reply.....Wow... this is tight... There are so many Favorited pieces of this poem.... but I will highlight this :" A peaceful wind quilted
From stitched memories
Covers his thoughts
with hope’s eclipse
occupied by an insistent
breeze haunted with the insanity
of persistence
He spits,
blindly of love
sounds of pain plays
in the face of charity’s bitch
like static snot on a carpet
waiting for your understanding
and response
As the messenger, he carries
The Crypt filled with spoken words,
poetry and prose
garnished with life crying for
the perfect dream
Which is the real poet’s journey
Is death, the tool for each time he wakes
Well I ended up taking just about all of it cause its good........... And on point and on time
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