Death of A Poet
written by: JOHN BAVERSTOCK
Trying to rediscover,
That one thing taken for granted,
The freedom of being able to express,
Those thoughts from a tangled mind,
A cobweb contriving of mists,
From the fathoms of deranged -intellect,
Which have become non-existent,
Like a passed vision,
Now obliterated,
How do you share?
What you cannot describe,
Wearing the shackles worn by many,
Chained to a pen that once ran free,
Expressing vividly, without a care,
Words, were written,
So often flowed,
Like a stream to a river,
Then a river to the sea,
Eventually they become a wave,
Until that wave crashes,
On to the sandy shore,
It is then the ink dries up,
The sand so thirsty,
Digests every drop of water,
Each droplet contains words,
Which disappear down,
The throat of the sand,
Slowly they become the lost words,
Which then turn into the forgotten,
Can you remember that poet…?
Was it you? … or is it?
love to all
JB x
- Pete - December 9, 2021
- Swifty - August 12, 2021
- Inside A Poet’s Mind - May 23, 2021
