Hear the sigh of the poet dying,
it is carried in wind and the water.
Those never written verses that
hung above his head in those last days.
Forever hanging above the world,
those words that never met
the blank white sheet.
That phenomenon, when multiplied
by the millions of poets gone…
Those hanging words …
They swerve into people’s minds
and nestle into the soft gray matter.
And there they linger, grow and attain control.
Making distance easy,
Loneliness more bearable,
silence a worthy friend.
As if out of those last words:
“I should have loved more!!!“
Only the isolation ,pain and agony
still remain to burthen mankind.
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