When poets die
It's sad and true,
It matters not
What their bodies do,
The spirit flies
To Poet's Corner,
In Westminster Abbey.
You'll not see
Busts or inscriptions
For all the poets
Whose spirits linger
Alongside Chaucer, Browning, Spencer,
And a myriad of authors.
Dead Poet you have earned your share;
Dead Poet I will know you're there,
Composing in the Laureate's lair.

"I'm fine," she says with a halfhearted grin.
"I'm fine," she says again, waving away a helpful hand.
"I'm fine," she says to herself, several minutes later.
"I'm fine," she whispers, wiping her face.
She's not fine.

"I'm fine," she says moments after the cry leaves her lips.
"I'm fine," she says to herself, sinking to the floor.
"I'm fine," she tells herself, shaking in a ball.
"I'm fine," she repeats, picking up the razorblade.
She's not fine.

"I'm fine," she says to her concerned family.
"I'm fine," she insists as those who love her worry.
"I'm fine," she says to anyone who listens.
"I'm fine," she lies as she slices her wrists.
She's not fine.

"I'm fine," she cries, sobbing on the bathroom floor.
"I'm fine," she wails, but only in a whisper.
"I'm fine," she mutters, watching the blood leave her wrist.
"I'm fine," she practices, stepping from the room.
She's not fine.

"I'm fine," she assures the world outside.

Hand me a note
Of a cynic brother
about the wars we've fought
the blood we've split
and the ones that bonded us together

I am a sinner
with dashing looks
a serpent smile
and a lust greater than a vampire

I hear them cry
when I close my eyes
I see their voids
Desperate
Desperation is all they cling to

I am a sinner
With a beauty voice
and an army of corpse behind  me

I sin for a better course
just like you lie for a better tomorrow
just like a mantra

many things left unsaid
but for sure
these life is uncertain

Please find and take heed
Words written by a poet to read
Words of feelings that flow
That come from within the soul

Some words so hard to write
Never before shown the light
Treasured words that are shared
Given by a poet now bared

One poem reading a million others
Words of sorrow or for lovers
Each poet, to find, to be inspired
Words of passion that are fired

Give every poet just that chance
Let those words come and dance
For those that come from the dark
Allow those words leave their mark

Read them and let them be seen
Understand what their words will mean
A million poets writing in the sun set
Writing with a heart we will never forget