A Poet's Last Stand

Be not so quick To announce our death Set aside your shovel and your spade There will be no burial here Not as long as these lips have words to form Or there are tales to be spun From these withered hands Yes, we have been quiet Overwhelmed by today’s clutter You live too fast We speak But you have no time to hear You can not get culture At your drive-through windows Nor can we simply dish it out For you to scan at will Ours are words with meaning They are to be savored for their value They refuse to be simply devoured Without leaving some taste behind Please stop for just a moment I promise to attempt to entertain you Maybe it won’t hurt as much as you fear You will not leave here untouched For if I fail I will simply lie back And let you cover my memory To go about your life As you began In darkness Poetry is not dead As long as a single soul survives Ed Roberts 5/14/91 (The title piece of my first book)