Letters To Dead Poets; Chapter 1: To William Blake
In that endless night
we heed; cold and bitterness
unto the morning light
Sightless vision binds our eyes
madness disembarks into our lives
A cold dark prison earned
is the bittersweet sentence served
A life stolen and a life lived in hush
tis golden silence upon that burning bush
Trembling utterances on the grave
it's the human heart that we poets save
In this final night and in that coming day
let all that you dream become what may
for once the fires lit, the dream is here to stay.
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In response to:
"Some are Born to sweet delight
Some are Born to sweet delight
Some are Born to Endless Night"
From Auguries of Innocence, by William Blake
Copyright © Nobodies Nobody | Year Posted 2023
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