How To Kill a Poet

Posted: February 18, 2016 in Uncategorized

Ergo, Ego

Broken bones, heartbreaking poems,

And heartbroken poets trying to break bone.

They said things that almost broke my funny bone

But I yet smiled. Tragedies are a joke.

They painted the world dark red, and gave us tears to drink,

Stuffed rocks of salt down our throats and filled our IVs with ink,

Flipped the world upside down so New Zealand was old,

And preached such venom to grammar, she woke from her coma.

Bold or stupid.

And still they wrote, still they spoke, these new chiefs.

Shouted in the streets till the avenues would lose sleep,

Till the skyscrapers peered down from the blue sheets,

For this day, they’d see crowned the new king of loose leaf.

When the ink ran out, they filled their pens with blood,

And when the paper was filled they tore at the walls.

Oh what a colourful day for their sorrowful ways.

Yet…

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