He had faith in exceptions He was optimistic He “believed in six impossible things just before breakfast” and had his cake. He mused of the bunny farm and fought the jabberwocky in his dreams. These things failed him. He woke up, and was crushed with the mice In a snap of revelation and Under the weight of truth. He was shattered, along with the coral corpses Of the paperweight
Part 2 The Paper Weight:
A coral in the glass paperweight A hummingbird shielded by twigs The fragile illusion A naive illusion “The beautiful illusion” Quoth Marlow, our dear friend Charlie. Through the looking glass His world, the Poet’s world, was shattered, Not by “a sea of trouble” Nor by words of a mature revelation but by Silence.
Part 3 The Horror, The Horror:
The wrath and sorrow of the composers Were expressed In the requiem of silence. The conductor threw his hand open In the final flight of the dove For the poet, the dreamer, Who, and whose ballads and odes Were silenced on the battlefronts of the nouveau era. No one followed when he chased the seagulls. No one answered his pleads and screams of wrath and sorrow. In the end, there was only silence For the poet, and his poetry. To this he whispered: “The Horror, the Horror” And then Nothing more.
The Death of the Poet By: Yitkbel Yue Xing **** 9:38PM Taking a break from HP. Thanks for all your support! 10/21/2013