This is a long one,
Though just the beginning
Of a story to be told
To you.
Poet, or lover
Of poetry's sweet touch,
Enjoy,
Indulge yourself.
The written word is dying
Sick and Ill
On Time's death bed
Rotting away
Until the day when
All that is left
Is a swift
"TTYL"
And the art
Will be gone
For good.

Scattered as my
brain my be
I see the coming of the
end of all
I love
So dearly as
To share with it my
Deepest secrets.
Poetry is my blood,
Tick and red,
Falling away from the nicks
Of life
And landing softly
In your eyes.
Oh reader,
See and believe
That it is up to I,
And up to you,
To Write
To Breath the words
Of poetry.

This is a long one,
But we're near the end.
So don't let my
Lover
Die.
Oh reader,
Keep the love
Alive.