On An Old Poem
I read a poem yesterday
An old poem
By a poet preparing to past away
It unravels threads
In my spirits well seamed hem
I am huanted
By why she had to say
I would go back and read
It to myself again,
But may not find the path
From which I fled
Shaking like a child
Before its quaking dread.
Was it the calmness
Of the preparation
The suddeness
Of my intrusion
The awareness of the desperation
That life is a pen
We write nothing with
And imprisoned by it
So long
We are strangers
In our ultimate world?
I appraised a poem
Yesterday, a sad poem
Words wheeling lariats
Around my bed, haunted
Now by a voice I hear
But do not know
Casting me in nakedness
To stand, and face my fear.
Copyright © L'Nass Shango | Year Posted 2009
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