Elegy for a Muse
My muse has died, a lingering death
Withered and taken with her last breath
I’ll bury her now in hallowed ground
In fairest verses, most profound
While my mind is buried, by her side
She spoke only truth, and never lied
Decomposing now, embraced by earth
Only haunted words to prove her worth
Gravestones stained, a perch for the birds
Is starkly plain and devoid of words
And so I chiseled some, etched in dread
In smoking script I proclaimed her bed:
“Here she sleep, bereft of roses fair,
No meaning now in a lifeless stare.
By grace she lived, and blessed as she died
Our worlds were never meant to collide”
A Poet's Death
He died, pursuing a muse's death,
Poetic justice on a last breath.
Buried six feet beneath ground,
In a sea of red roses all around.
Composing secrets to the earth,
Back to the origins of ashen birth.
Ashes to ashes dust to dust,
A lyrical soul, to the earth encrust
They laid him beside a muse so fair
In a garden they’ll eternally share.
His beloved muse smiled in death,
Here-after creative words on a breath.
Words so sweet cannot compare,
Talents had, with poetic words to bear.
From the chalice of death he sipped
On a tombstone writ in sand script:
"Here he sleeps in roses fair,
With poetic grace, his bane to bear.
In a sea of roses and baby's breath,
Less famous alive, than in death."
this is a collab with another poet on a different site