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From the parting pages of shakespare

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Below is the poem entitled From the parting pages of shakespare which was written by poet Ebi ROBERT. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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From the parting pages of shakespare

Long i left
this room of rhymes.
Where poetry is our pen.
Price-tool, priceless
line full of ink line-chess.
where lord, nobles and kinks
read of the rhymes we bring.
Where the table is set of writers zest.

The rebirth is the spring 
of an offspring.
Better i don't swear and loss my hair.
Better i don't hide and stand half 
naked.
Like Adam  in Eden.
That i know is true
and i grow is a growth.
That i flow in my soul
makes me born anew.
Oh! weary soul put in a shoe.

Summer sink and sang
me once before i die.
lies are ever waiting.
Stories ever telling
Music ever sung.
A new one is born.
Poet are call to write.
News in the sky.
One sky to birth
For the rebirth is ours to write.
If i fail let my pen write me lie.

Killing, killing my limping lamp.
hurry staggered by a fairy wand.
pregnant still in moon light waves.
sparkling in sun-light waves.
Be quiet if thy lips ruined by teeth 
is blue and shining.
Trimming to tales, the rebirth told.
O' morning grave shall bury youth.

Old pages, weak and dusty.
Can you keep my poetic lines?
If yes, how?
Do not serve this rhymes with 
Solomon-eyes.
Do not fall as soaked sand slippery 
shy.
Thou parting pages of time!
save my line running fast.
Throne of two i fear thy ageing parts.

A second time thy throne my notes 
old margin.
Sacred scroll ruled to a metal toll.
Instrument in the finding length.
fear filing while the great brains
 summon the grace of thy keep.
Be still. old kiss.
Like the Greek of kings i beseech thee.

A third time thou make me small 
seeing
fainted by thy storm.
Maybe those rats visited with 
message deleted.
But teach us more dreams and 
fantasy.
that Grey green believe.
I am through to mine, hungry page of 
time.

And  for the the fourth time
I bow like a maiden to a serve.
These pages delivered to a sleep 
spiting to a table.
Born to the dawn.
Finding these pages ancient of 
ancient age.
be burned, aged scroll,  I will read 
thou no more,
ancient lines of dreams.

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  1. Date: 3/22/2012 11:51:00 AM
    very lovely writing skills you display here in this excellent poem take care always p.d.