Dead Poets

   

I whisper the words of dead poets

I've not the courage to share my own.

Constricted and dying

Truth knows no part of me.

I sing the songs of the forgotten

They are fools to think them my own.

Why is it my motives go unquestioned

While words die at my hand.

I dance to the prayers of the dead

Round ancient graves by pure witch light.

I dare not speak of this

For fear Ill have to share my wine.

I raise a toast to the words of the poets,

Those who are gone, those who are still alive

I confess I fear this world we've made

That would love to see the words die.

I whisper the words of dead poets

In hopes their truth survives.

NH

2013