Tuesday, November 26, 2013

A Poet Dead, A Poet Born

It is one of them days
When the calendar says
A note on hell, one on heaven
And a date ending eleven

A page of memories, an empty pen
People ask, where were you then?
The story of a man
But then he ran
From the sound of a song
And a play played along

She decided to wear white
Just not another night
And every man in that hall
Sighed at that doll
And wondered about the man
And why he ran
And that song she sung
Unbroken hearts dying young
Still rings in his ears
Zero days and five years

The play was about some race
Defeat, and loss of face
And as they sat down
It was the other town
Where something went wrong
And blood flowed strong
And there was a call
To leave the hall
And the man and the girl
Got up with a twirl
And a boy and woman left
While keepers claimed theft

A poet, he died that day
A poet, she was born that day
And then each went their way
Two ice cubes from the same tray
In separate glasses made of clay

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