Sentenced To Death

They took the poet and sentenced him to death. His crime was simply not wanting to write crappy poetry, but rather wanted his pen to run with the wild things. To create canvases of imagination for anyone to see. the clouds and green oaks would bow to him and gladly shed paper and a comfortable breeze for him But not all love life, and not all see things in this way. Chaining him to his musing rock, they left him to drown with his poems. As his wife looked on with a single tear dropping into the salty waves bid goodbye to her love his poems bled their syllables and metaphors, similes no longer smiling or singing. All drown with the coming dawn. Now the town is silent. No more beautiful songs are rising from the wooden roofs anymore. In his condemnation, they condemned themselves to a life of ignorant bliss. Occasionally his poems resurface a distant reminder of something foolishly forgotten. The Poet may yet live on, but only at the behest of the wind and salty sea.