This morning while I woke
My consciousness stirring
Against crackling spider webs
I could hear the faint and distant voices
Of forgotten poets
Long dead
Weary from wandering
Unable to reach the light
Unwilling to let go their heavy sacks
Of poetry and rocks
Waiting to be told
That they are loved
That they are genius and beautiful
But I would not hear them
I covered my ears
And sang loudly a song
I told myself: "This cannot be"
For last night in a dream
I was dying
A light calling me
Telling me to leave behind
My poems in a coffee can
With instructions
To burn them with my ashes
For here you will not be alone
Here the light is love
Here light is everywhere
Pain is only the shape of flesh
There is no poetry here
Copyright 2003 Stranger
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/1107/14555 on Friday September 05th, 2008 08:40 PM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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