The Poet’s duty is
to yearn..
and turn that yearning
into song.
To sing its gentle
melody..
the highest praise
of beauty
only keenly watchful
eye can see.

What malady, however,
spells The Poet’s Death?
It is the moment
when there’s no more
yearning in him left.

When the whimsy
of his quill
grows ghostly
like a phantom limb.
And cloudy cataracts
obscure his vision
of the beauty
laying right
in front
of him.

His song grows quieter.
The sweetness
of its melody
loses its breath.
Until the only songs
he still has will
to sing
become the songs
of silence..
Silence unto Death.