bones scattered on the wooden bed
intricate artistic words inscribed
his words of romance covering the walls
roses gather the way he wished
his romance all over his face
still even in his blue tinted white face
skin that sags from the heaviness of his words
now pool around him even in death
intricate angles that make up a masterpiece
even like this he is a work of art
he may be gone twisted up in his words
but his words that he lived will always live on
spreading ever so
from one time locked deep to another that's far away
he is like Shakespeare
living even to this day
his words finding more romances
as there journey goes on
the death of a poet can mean many things
many things that latch to the hearts desires
he takes the breath of the living
as he lives on through our love
the love that he does not create yes
but helps guid along
his mangled limbs
under the earth
they grow into a tree
as his words are so strong
pushing through the hardened ground
and creating something as beautiful as it is
he lives in this tree
this poet of mine
so I listen to his words
that flows from this tree
Naomi~wingedfeature
D