Lost Poem

They say every word spoken in the earth Goes to a celestial bank in heaven And becomes the music of the spheres But I have penned words from heart And here in this electronic room lost them What of them, the bosons of my brain What of the Creator's lost in his domain What of my poem, the poet and the bird Have sent to spheres with songs unheard O they are gone like a child not yet born Gone, grieving the mother's grave-like womb Did I have a miscarriage too And when the music swells the sphere, will I Be honored for my words that came and died Is there a monument for poets in the sky Is the wind a fragment of my song, I sighed O the pain not to teach it with my tongue to sing Or feel in my breast its fluttering wings O the injustice of it! A poem is a fetus too Until its cuddled it is not born, and yet its gone As if a thing not yet alive could die; dark dawn Cease! I want my child, O Jairus, to live again What else shall poertrysoup take from me In this electronic world of technical tyranny?