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 Oct 2016 David Swinden
Rapunzoll
my mother always said
"don't fall in love with a poet"
they pretend to love you
but what they really love
is writing about loving you
you are mere words to them
feelings cheapened by a page,
dusty grey typewriters,
and many unfinished drafts
of lovers both old and new,
you are the question mark,
but not the answer,
they are searching for ?
person unidentified: mystery
the page wanderer,
each poem a missing
person poster to cover their
bedroom walls.
they cannot love something
that is in their head
poets are the loneliest of
all people, my mother said.
they write to immortalize
what has long passed.
to live within their words,
but not reality,
lost souls writing suicide notes
and proclaiming it art.
© copyright

NOTE: i've noticed people sharing this to other sites without having spoken to me about it beforehand, I do not give permission for this and all poems are copyright, keep this in mind.

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my mother never actually said this to me, but i figure i'll probably end up saying it one day if i have children.

it's pessimistic yes, but i know there are exceptions. please don't take to heart. it's more a criticism of myself than all poets. :)
Whatever happened on that fateful night
We can speculate in the dimness of light
Was found the poet who went by the name of Poe
Wandering a Baltimore street of long ago

Mystery surrounds this most tragic event
No witnesses came forth with telling to vent
His mind state must of been in utter disarray
Why would he not know of the foul play

In dishevelled ragged clothes he was clad
An injustice on his person had been so sad
Elections were taking place on the date
His registered title forged another's slate

To a hospital he was sent for treatment
Though his weakened constitution never bent
The man of letters died a loner's death
His last words were of God's sure breath

Who wanted the author disposed of back then
We'll ever conjecture on the character's pen
I walked along the mountain stream
Where dancing sunbeams shone and gleamed

It was such a peaceful place
The gentle breeze carressed my face

I came across a country stile
Where I could sit and think awhile

Far  away  from  this  dangerous  world
The  natural  beauty  just  unfurled.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2016.
 Oct 2016 David Swinden
Ramin Ara
I
 Oct 2016 David Swinden
Ramin Ara
I
The forest
Waiting for spring
I
Waiting for you
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