::09:12:08::

::: A Poet In The Room :::

So I suspect myself a poet
The lover in my bed is a hint
And maybe the moon is a teacher
I disappear with green earth
All gone and buried
The pets of civilization
Genius hidden under the breath
Of illiterate politicians
And violent police thugs
Now the rest is but wind
Justice in the vague memories
Of a mother’s tears
And oh the way her child cried too
Like the umbilical language
Was understood by me
Like the fading emotion was a line
In the prophet’s book
And oh how the prophet cried
When he heard the poet died
I suspect myself a fool
A tool of the centuries and
The 50s combined
Here on this bed
With the cold air
A heart filled with tiny deaths
And all the lights off
So that the insects roam freely
And feel the breeze from my window
On their backs
As they climb

Written by: ~ Beatnik D