Poets are gods but die like humans.
I stumbled into this poem, I wrote four years ago. It is centered around poets being gods and how sadly immortal they are. The prominent theme of pessimism in the piece poses serious concern and disturbance. It's appalling in that it depicts the total end of fellow god. Let's dive into it already.
THE DEATH OF A GOD
poets, we are
gods, we are,
We are men and women
who can give life to dead words.
poets, we are
gods, we are,
We are men and women
who can give life to dead words.
with muted tongues full of ancient wit,
we roar into the deafness of emotions
and rattle the dry bones of wrongs
We're
gods
but
die
like
men.
I see clouds gathering
I see clouds gathering
and the sun's retiring
melancholy lyrics interlude yet another doomthe night; she is the doom
melancholy lyrics interlude yet another doomthe night; she is the doom
with a cloak of darkness wrap around her bald head
she strip tease the body of a weary scribbler
until his soul is made naked
and his body unaware
of life
of light
of letters
like a procession of mourners,
this melancholy lyrics assails the departure of a god
stretched on a bed of stones
I see clouds gather and waters clot
as stillness greet the streets with goodbye songs
I see a barren night sky with no glitzy stars
I see royal glamour fading
I see dust encroaching his orchard of verses
mother earth swallow up a god
in a single gulp
as a PENalty for being born
we, his fellow muted scribblers will keep spooling words
until mortality betrayed us
#Pengician #SSA
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