Poetry is dying,
as surely as I am dying
as you are dying
Each word read is a new breath
life-sustaining air to inky lungs
but breath must be freed
and when it goes we are closer to death.
To live a moment more
then die a little more
we die forevermore.
Poetry as dying,
as surely as the sun dies when she sets
as the moon dies when she sets.
Poetry is dying while it lives in our hearts
it's washed out from our minds
as we die--as surely as we die.
Our poetry is dying
but new words will be born
as surely as babies are born.