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The Dying Poet

As shadows climb and mingle with the light, The dying poet reaches for his pen, To catch the fleeting image of the night And phrase a moment’s beauty once again. Some deem the poet’s gift to be a curse, An endless quest with lines of written woe; Yet method’s ‘neath the madness of his verse, Reflections leave his mind with much to know. And he’ll not fear the darkness as it nears; For he's been dying long before his death. The ink that trails behind to mark his years, Will spill his soul until that final breath. With but a whisper left for him to give, The dying poet leaves his words to live.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2024




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Date: 11/29/2024 2:50:00 PM
Yes, as the poet Claude McKay said "we are pressed against a wall, dying but fighting back." Well written poem, sonnet. I enjoyed the reading and thank you for your talent. Blessings, Janis
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Jessica Wheeler
Date: 11/30/2024 8:19:00 AM
I'm honored, thank you, Janis! Xo
Date: 11/29/2024 1:59:00 PM
Nice. At least one of the top three had the correct meter. ;)
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Jessica Wheeler
Date: 11/30/2024 8:15:00 AM
Heheh, thank you, Tom! Xoxo
Date: 8/20/2024 2:15:00 AM
Now this is how a sonnet should be written! Wonderful writing, Jessica. John
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Date: 6/10/2024 11:49:00 PM
Superb writing, rhyming and cadence Jessica. An absolute pleasure to read. Cheers - Gary
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