To construe a feeling from deep deep within,
And to Have it out, form the words, yet to keep it in.  
The art of expression in a Quantified way.
Letting out some of the nuances, but keep others at bay.
The liberty to express what is really there.
All awhile no one's really there to hear.
And lest a fellow poet would
Take a peep.
Indeed 'Tis verily plausible the Sullied Secret may still Keep.

The life of a poet lives on
through all their poems,
but the day I do depart,
I want to be cremated.

I will entrust family
and some fellow poets
to let my ashes sink
into some deep black ink.
And I'd want them to write
the stanzas I secretly saved
just for the occasion.

That way
they can say
that I put
all my heart
and my body
into poetry.
Literally.

My soul,
on the other hand,
would live on happily
as an eternal poet
having fun rhyming
while everyone's crying.
(and I'd wish they'd stop.)