Poetry is Dead..
Free-Verse
Poetry is meaningless, and I am done singing praises.
For my love is dead, lying cold under the cypress.
Covered in memories of a past life
which felt splendid just sometime ago.
Maybe I was foolish, looking for an answer.
In everything that I did
Maybe I was blind, reaching out for meaning
Amidst the weathering leaves of autumn
I was always onto something to live a life.
Always needed a high to cherish all the fading lights
which are so very numb to my senses.
I walk a valley full of roses
That turns black as the morning comes.
Flowers bloom when I am not looking
and wind only rises when I am gone
An eternity of my yearnings
to be completely free, all from this bondage,
I call life.
From all that holds my
skin and bones and soul intact.
Let me be free love,
Let me have this freedom that people find
only when they are at the end of their time..
