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,
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
