Death of Poetry, My Dear Poesy.
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She lies cold, in my arms
Mimicking the coldness within
White as death, her body lies
Dear Poesy, you left me already?
.
.
.
I burn those moments now
The time which we had spent alone
Solitude, our company,
Manufacturing through inks and sheets.
.
.
.
Then I saw that the forest
Of words had dried up, brown
O why, by Lord, O Dearest Soul,
Do you still exist with me?
.
.
.
Then I made you destroy your
Rhythmic, metric walk
Your grace has fallen now
My hands can’t carve you now.
.
.
.
O God! She lies cold!
Her verses decomposing
O how can I bare it, how!
My Poesy, O Poesy!
.
.
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How can I make love to her dead body...
Aww thats sad, hope your okay. If you need cheering up, check out my posts. @diljeetdil xx
I'm glad you understood this piece. Sure I'll check them out. :)
Aww thanks xx just put up a pic of myself x
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