Before I lay this flowery wreath on you
A carcass now, and painstakingly still,
Before a drape this mourning black anew
O Poem! Wouldn't you rise again and fill
For one last time my heart with ecstasy,
With rising suns and promised lands afar,
With pain of loss, despair, melancholy,
With hope that rises, healing every scar.
I find no rhyme, no rhythm drums its way,
Into my soul, ravaged by words that snore,
And unto me no artistry convey,
So one last time o! Heart let me implore,
From ashes rise and rid us of this curse
This blasphemy, the blemish of free verse.
2 comments:
this one is a class apart! best of what I have read of you.. please publish it, monies may start flowing in with every copy you sell :)
Rosy..yet has the pricks to convey the message :D Similes would fall short to convey how "free verse" can reverse the convalescence of rhyme and rhythm to the poetically parched. Someone needed to speak it out and I m glad that it was u...in style :)
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