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Ode to an American Poet..JDM
Visiting the cemetary of Pere Lachaise
My mind screams
Cathedral thoughts and coliseum dreams
tempered by white fire of the most extreme,
wicked hues of golden purple streams,
wash over the barren and cold, erected mausoleums,
eternally dislocating their patrons freedom
Ancient Kings' and Queens' fold
sold in a morass of dark stellar cold.
Midnights gloom weaves shadowed doom on tales untold
chiseled in letters, stamped in bold.
Life and death separated by a bleak dash
animated works turned to ash
No longer among
they are long gone
Unpacked there hearts with words.
Leaving no stone unturned
questioning questions bound by earth
leaving sharp tipped answers draped in mirth.
No more didactic instruction nor
edification by virtuous percussion
Now we work all the night long on the word lathe
with insouciant faith
welding a devotional, emotional denouement.....