Poets never die they just fade way into their own words

 

 

They are the light at the end of tunnel

These words line the pages of history and funnel outwards

They are me and I am them

They are the stem from which my thoughts flower

They are the real power to change the world

 

Can I help it that I am giving way to these words

And fading into pages of pen and ink

at least I leave a mark a spark to light your way

in the dark days of a future unwritten.