| |
Poetic Assasin
If poetry should die,
I want to be the one to drive a knife through its heart,
And twist it till I hear its final cry,
Eve though millions would be hurt,
I want to be the one to do it,
I killed it,
Then I would look into its sad eyes,
Make it realize that I lay it to rest,
I’ve natured it and now its time to pay the prize,
I put it out of its misery for the best,
I would probably mourn about it,
But I killed it,
Lay it on a bed of roses,
Sing dirges and curse the hand that killed it,
Put it in a grave full of crescent moons and crosses,
Put a bounty on the killer like a bandit,
I may not have created it,
But I definitely killed it,
Then I would go down history,
As the poet who killed poetry,
In a quest for poetic justice I archived immortality,
Sometimes blood stained hands can be legendary,
It may seem as a pun to have fun about killing it,
But I sure as hell killed it tonight,
|
Back
|
|