poetry is dead
it comes alive
dies right before our eyes
we write
talk of it
we bury it inside our heads
poetry is a ghost
haunting us awake
stuck inside our brains
lingering in our bedsheets
I smell its scent on my pillow
poetry died
I watched it crumble
I saw it's last breath
I knew it was the end
poetry
is deadly
we imagined
poetry was everlasting life
poetry is death
a thought
a feeling
a person
a time
a place
an object
we pull from our hearts
into this burning flame
it glows
it prevails
once our eyes touch the last word
breathing it's
last goodbye
hoping for someone to pass by
stealing a sharp breath of air
the words are gone
lights out
poetry is dead
rest in peace
1. No longer living.
2. Figuratively, not alive; lacking life.