The Death of the Poet
By Gregory Bryant
A haunting stillness caresses the earth
Time loses track of itself and reality
A baby is born empty and with no brightness
The teachers teach the end of an era
The paper withers and crumbles into dust
While the pen and pencil no longer writes
The existence of rhyme, meter, stanza and turn are lost in the darkness
A silhouette of the past is singed into the fabric of our souls
Where are the Sonnets we once knew
Have we lost the metaphors and similes
Mankind has lost its iambic pentameter
We have lost the truest form of expression
with the death of the poet
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