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The Death of Poets

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Summary:
Final Solution

Is it any wonder how writers,  
even so young –  
their faces tight and bright with sun,  
their eyes agleam –  
how yet they still succumb  
to emptiness?  

Their faucets dripping dry;  
an empty sky,  
no air; nowhere to run,  
no thoughts to dream?  

Then, let the bullets fly.  
Let blades invade the vital stream.  
Let souls depart.  

And in ascension seem  
to find their heart

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    13 COMMENTS

    1. I think this poem can be interpreted in different ways. It can the literal death or the symbolic death as in writer’s block. And you have spoken of that beautifully! Well done “)

      • I’m so glad, Mr. Dragon! Ironically, I was just on DUP and had a note from administration that they wanted to include this poem in the DUP Anthology under dark poetry. I happily gave them permission.

        xoxo

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