fellow poets may I adjure your wishful conception <br />as to a plight in which few may pierce its actuation <br />does it really beackon the clap of a thundercloud <br />for poetry writers with great success to be enshroud <br />should even such an omen force our behavior <br />for words born of subconscience labor — savior? <br /> <br />yes, through somber nights the compelled one writes <br />with gregarious might and contrite unleashing his rights <br />arising per occasion, captured within the cage of dawn <br />the pen drags his hand around moving naive to the yawn <br />minutes become hours become days become weird <br />days become weeks become months become year-ed <br /> <br />like the marathon of light running ‘cross pure universe <br />you and I live to die on living ‘cross pure poetic verse <br />seemingly every truly success-fullfulling poet must offer up <br />his very last breath before rich, surely ending up <br />so if you endeavor to never know it ‘n ever sow it <br />our fate as forever clever, a dead poet is a rich poet<br /><br />Trunami ...<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-dead-poet-is-a-rich-poet/
