Wednesday, October 01, 2008

no poet lies here
in this grave unmarked
no wisdom abides
shining in this dark

symptoms abound
verdicts ring true
from lips unhinged
by the withering proof

alone, for I am not like you
dead, for I am rotted to the core
like the oak of a cenury or more
dying a lone sentinel at the door
goblin and ghost haunting the moor
till death takes me forevermore