A Smothering Of Poets

A love which ends badly-
if we let it-
freezes Time;

and we move on
covering it;

leaving it unchanged and unresolved.

We plant the last Kiss
with a question mark
knotted in the Semi-finish..

We drag our Dead Poet Love
into the future
bound and gagged
in the truck of the car
because all past loves
are Dead Poets;

we ignore the muffled cries
in the rear;

drive toward the future
tamping down the present
with a finger
dipped in
past and jaded memory.

We smother old past poets
put them away in the dark closet
because New Love
most often
doesn't share our love of
Former Poetries.

We reel in the Future now
before it is born;
strangled;

we make Hope for New Love
to lie
down in the cold;

but, our warm coat
is in the closet
which means
at odd times
in the chill
we dream of dead poets,

who sometimes
don't remain
dead still
in the trunk of the car
in the closet
in the category
nil.

by Lonnie Hicks

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Comments (1)

all good poets become known wen they are alive, all great poets become famous wen they are almost dead, only the best poets get to be famous, studied, and loved; wen they are dead. I really liked your peice here. Crystal Midnight