This is no poet

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
Another poem by my cuz Richie

Submitted: July 02, 2008

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Submitted: July 02, 2008

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This is no poet

This is no poet's head

But a room and a small bed

Where a poet sleeps

When he wakes he walks

Out to the edge of his shelf

Where he whistled to himself

He sits like four cups of coffee

And drums his feet on my floor

Wishing away the bars on his door

He dangles a drunken head

Over a noose of a neck

And falls back onto his bed

He peers out into the grim

Through the two eyes I open

To let some light into his den

He rests his soul in that cell

That I built for my brainchild

Though his snores sound as wild as hell

He has not written a word in weeks

And all he works on are unfinished drinks

Though I know he dreams dark at night

The last pen I bought

He dug deep into my brain

Until the ink mixed with a blood clot

Now the veins flood with black

And neither of us can stand the poison

Yet neither of us can take it back

Then the poet upstairs suddenly stopped building fires

He's refused to eat any of his meals

And he simply wont tell me how he feels

Early this morning I found him stuck under his bed

With his legs splintered and ribcage showing

Out through his windows I saw it snowing

I buried him fast under the silt and snow

Though his cross is buried to the hilt in my skull

I cannot say how it will be tomorrow

For this is no poet's head

But a room with a cot

Where a poet once slept


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