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Poetry Is Dead

Wind rips her veins from a lost crumbled soul barren in meadows grown old fixated a proven path a past watching ice melt trickle and all as well as it was frozen within time from heartbeats long ago when words tumbled seduced from a golden chalice eclipsed in an elixir of the sun running off with the shadows humming new found melodies love blooming in the iris life beaming abound it was summer as they did say and she was know to wake at all hours beheld in a bosom of bard tunes we held tight notes repeated in sultry serenade smokey and cool in a jazzed up funky way day lit and the night burned waxing the dripping moon beheld in bones of those who bore forbearance caressing a candor released in the dark fortress of forbidden a poem perhaps or not we were to be perchance set free or forth until all eternity

Copyright © | Year Posted 2021




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Date: 3/18/2021 1:06:00 PM
Unless the world is nuked and everything lies tattered in ashes, lifeless, dead and gone, poetry, dear bard, like the music of trilling birds, will never die. "Because I could not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for me – The Carriage held but just Ourselves – And Immortality..."
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Lady Labyrinth
Date: 3/18/2021 1:10:00 PM
:)....perhaps the one to be read at a funeral, cause it's beautiful.
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Lady Labyrinth
Date: 3/18/2021 1:07:00 PM
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47652/because-i-could-not-stop-for-death-479

Book: Reflection on the Important Things