Monday, September 19, 2011


The dead have no say,
and they keep saying it
in the most peculiar ways;

Wait for our eyes to close,
sneak in our heads
and teach us the most
sad games to play.

Or creep into our beds,
make us shiver and wither
in the most damnable way.

Death and dead live to die.
They've had their say.
Stay out of their way.

poetry is to be savored slowly
enjoyed through each nerve ending
each verse a life of its own
developing inside of us
something beautiful to grow

savor your poetry slow

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