There comes a time when
you can't carry on any
longer. I love you.

all dances, dance
on a grave

Bored poets write ennui
Sad poets psalms
Bad poets penning's
Are made into songs

Silly poets write limericks
And limericks they read
Drunk poets write scribbles
Drunk on their mead

Angry young men
Write rants by the hour
Wide-eyed young girls write
Of bunnies and flowers

Idiots write nonsense
Off the seat of their pants,
Got news for you, scoffers!
So do savants!

Gays write of rainbows
Saints of sonnets of old,
Storytellers write
pirate plunder and gold.

Broken poets write humbly
Strong writes unadorned,
Happy
write of roses

 Bleeding poets of thorns.


Soul Survivor aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc

There will come a time when the night air
won’t send chills down my spine
for it will no longer whisper your name.

I will stop telling stories about you,
for the moon has grew tired of hearing them
and weariness is an awful thing to feel.

The stars would appear
brighter than your eyes,
and I would hear lullabies again.

The winds would be warm,
the seas won’t crash waves,
and I will no longer drown.