Sentenced To Death
They took the poet and sentenced
him to death. His crime was
simply not wanting to write crappy
poetry, but rather wanted his pen
to run with the wild things. To
create canvases of imagination
for anyone to see. the clouds
and green oaks would bow
to him and gladly shed paper
and a comfortable breeze for him
But not all love life, and not
all see things in this way.
Chaining him to his musing
rock, they left him to drown
with his poems. As his wife
looked on with a single tear
dropping into the salty waves
bid goodbye to her love
his poems bled their syllables
and metaphors, similes no longer
smiling or singing. All drown
with the coming dawn. Now
the town is silent. No more
beautiful songs are rising from
the wooden roofs anymore.
In his condemnation, they
condemned themselves to a
life of ignorant bliss.
Occasionally his poems resurface
a distant reminder of something
foolishly forgotten. The Poet
may yet live on, but only
at the behest of the wind
and salty sea.
Copyright © Colin Amato | Year Posted 2009
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