Dead poets hang
from shrunken trees:
ring-a-ring-a-roses,
a pocket full of posies,
singing dead songs,
lyrical flames ignite
numb corpses
Obsolete language from
skull faces, pensive troubadours:
satchels with free verse,
in a universe
devoid of logic
Doomed couplets from
sensual mouths
beckon me to extinction
and coldness –
welcome,
dead poets say in
scarred voices,
welcome to the
long, strange decay.
(Photo by Frantzou Fleurine on Unsplash)
wickedly eerie… 😮
Thanks Jay 😊🙏
This is terrific 👏👏
Thank you Jennifer 😊
Wow, Nick… that’s intense!
-David
Thanks david!