| poEtS nEVeR dIE.. |
| sitting here alone. I listen carefully. he speaks in tongues. he sung a song. I cried a smile and he was there. a dead man's voice. and empty room. a chair. I looked around the sterile room. the cluttered nothing filled by eyes. he was a fool. he made me cry. I'm all alone, but poets never die. he loads the gun in his left hand. he shuts his eyes. outside: the world. is all love lost? the poets asks. he pulls the trigger on the past. I close my eyes. can't stop the blood, because his words live on. and I sit alone, out of choice, with my preacher's rotting voice. he lies alone. familiar place, but now it seems a different world. he killed itb all; prophetic fool. it seems he wasn't there at all. I look around. he fills my mind. why is it good men never shine? I wonder if he said goodbye. there was no need: poets never die. |