I am something of a stalagmite these days
ice has grown from where the water
has seeped through the cracks
of the cave of my bones,
growing ever more solid
with the advance of winter

Is poetry dead
took its last breath
eating up all it's words
I'm feeling so hurt
poetry is dead
we mourned for days
sounds of sobs heard around the world

we slept in silence
lights on

poetry is dead
hello poetry welcome back to the internet

Sometimes when sorrow sinks in
I worry a wailing might screech from my chest
And every person for miles might hear it.
Or feel it shake the air, like hot flame
Ripples carrying my saddest indulgence
As the beast that weighs me down, croons.
So that people quaking, step out of the way
And we have room to sing the lonely wail, some more.

Walking stick, || in his hand,
Firm stride, || his dream was grand.
Peace & freedom || was his quest,
His non-violent path, || is the best.
Learn from Bapu’s || lesson of peace,
End the world || of all pain & grief.
A test for us || lies today,
Will we walk || on his way?