I am all but dead!
I am deader than a half baked Dodo
A dinosaur living on fast-food fossil fuel.
Through rain, hail or snow,
My words roll away like tears in the rain and are blown away by
The frosty winds of melancholy.
My lips are dry and cracked from
The millions of syllables and utterances which dribbled effortlessly from the estuaries of my tongue.
The hideous plantations of a fertile imagination have failed to yield any fruit which is edible for the human soul.
Lurking behind the rocks are doubts
Which desire death and decay.
At night the window to my soul is left open for the world to witness a poet who is dying a long painful, agonising, humiliating demise into the forgotten pages of oblivion.
I am only a child, but my pure heart is giving way to cynicism and world weariness which I cannot control.
Tomorrow I must go on living and end the shallow breathing of life.
Once the poet is dead and buried,
I’ll be Lazarus at a seance on a balmy
Sunday in the park.
Inspired by Loui Jover’s Death Of A Poet.