WRITERS DEATH ON THE BLOCK
Tuesday, 26. February 2008, 09:55:28
Temporal space locked away in time
the drought of season of thoughts and rhyme
the emptiness of midnights dark hour
of locked gates and on the tombstone
the death of ideas remain and who will
dig me out of mental grave of torment
impentrable fortress where the world
hides its face of creativity
so who will vanquish the devils sword
and give me ink and pen
fragments of fractured words and thoughts
randomly gather at the gates and mock
the mind and heart and there the words
stare glaringly silent unwilling to yield
to the calling of my pen and mind and
rigidly I seek to control the words that
seemingly run away and hide beyond
the cemetary's gates, the ghost of many
a thought floats at midnight and vanish
upon the awakening of day
no word be prepared to carve upon
marble or stone as cold the body
of poetry is laid within the coffin of the
mind, and who dares remember to pay their
respect to the poet so clever of word and why
was no autopsy performed for who really can
tell why that all poets one day will die and who
will lay down the pink rose and remember.....
Maree Long
(c) Maree long 2008













