Bury me
Underneath down the debris of poetic pages
so that none should know me
that I ever existed
as Loved nor Lovedly
Just bury my past
my future with your poetry
as I slumber beneath the debris
I should smell the petrichor
you all leave behind for me
let the rains wash away
all remains of me
simply bury
me as a Rose washed away from the sea
a long way since all knew me
just bury me.
This is a blog not poetry
so all can see
that a poet lies beneath the sea,
a vast ocean
a distant horizon
lost with the wind with glee
Ah! just bury me deep in your memory
let it be just me
a poet solitary
as you recall someday
who did you bury
anyway....
Comments
Hi loved
Good, serious poetry which inspires this-
Bury the past that bleeds with agony
but the memory refuse to be forgotten
like a haunting ghost of poetry
swallowed by the hands of fate, yet unbeaten.
Who am I to deny a friend's presence in this life?
I'm just a nobody, wandering on this earth,
seeking a chance for hope to live and strive
in the embrace of my Creator who knows my worth.
Don't ask of me to bury the memories of you.
Its not what I want to do, never wishing ill for you.
Just let it last as long as it can my friend,
like a candle's flame that burns until the night's end.
you are indeed charming
but I know you will attend
the burial when the time comes
till then continue as you will do me befriend
at least till in Neopoets
comes my final end
loved
go to your funeral if I can, yessir. Forget you in an instant? hell, no! The memory stays until time snatched it away but I won't kill, bury or discard the memory willingly.
Alid
you and Ian only
wish me well always
don't worry 'tis only poetry
I ain't on my way out you bet
Jess has to teach me yet...
I got the shovel...whom we burying?
spud bar too...damn pit run and or pick axe!
try cutting through three feet of frost in winter!
done that...
are you forgotten again Loved
dont be...
I know you...I read U
I remember U
just a quiet spell
sometimes we need it
to think
I do...
there goes the juiciness of
my youth
which some got the most enjoyment
from
or others
saved it
couldnt sell it
didnt now what too do with it
and fall came
the latter years
oh my wardrobe
of being
I take you out
hitting the town
now old and and vampire
but still in vogue
warhol was...lagerfeld is
etc
what do theses old eyes
project
what story
this breath breathes
when the city was alive
with feral blood
no rules
ha
thank U