The Moya View


It has been said, by 
someone wiser than me,
that poetry is a wind from God.

Than why do I find
such beauty in
the rhyme of dirt—

Why do I listen
to the lonely voices
of dead poets—

Why do I want to
excavate their bones,
roll in them until they break—

or burn them in the
crematorium of my soul
to spread their ashes on my face?

No, Poetry is a forsaken voice
calling out to the wind
and hearing only an echo.





One response to “Poetry”

  1. caroline46 Avatar

    This poem defies comment except to say you nailed it with the last fantastic line

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