Dying Poetry
B
Barry Middleton
0
Altın Yaprak
dying poetry is hard to write
a ghost leans over the keyboard
my words are empty as blank paper
I cannot put it off till death
for then it is too late
I know what only dying men can know
outside fate stirs the restless trees
the rain has ceased
no one else sees the drifting shadow
time drags on
as if childhood has returned
as if I wait for some coming season
there is no image or metaphor
a waking coma paralyses the mind
and the universe moves on
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş