Saturday, March 3, 2012

While Reading the Works of a Lovelorn Poet

Feel, for they fade;
Feel the desperate ink
And the passion's fingers.
The pain in the strokes
And the forsaken melody.

Feel, for they fade;
In and out of certainty
Scratching along as unwelcome.
As if fires should pasteurize
And stir along shadows
          And detoxify life.

Feel, for they fade;
And yet, they stay
Dead and alive.
Just feel
And in you
They fade.

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