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The poet dies
In the perfumed night.
Every metaphor
Passing away
Into the infinity of silence
Should be embalmed;
I’m alarmed
That love never survives
After spring flowers
Fade into autumn!

Submitted: Friday, March 10, 2006
Edited: Saturday, March 11, 2006


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Comments about this poem ((1) Privy by Uriah Hamilton )

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  • Emma Johnson (5/6/2006 8:54:00 AM)

    That's what I call rich brevity like the evanescent love it describes. Susie.

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  • Ghada Shahbender (3/13/2006 4:01:00 AM)

    Again you trigger a chain of thoughts by highlighting fine details and smudging others.. Dreamlike

  • Joy Vanderhelm (3/12/2006 12:31:00 PM)

    There's no infinity of silence with you ever, is there? A great read that leaves me wanting more but knoweing that the rest of it is up to me. Thanks for this one, Uriah.

  • Mary Nagy (3/11/2006 7:00:00 PM)

    I think you have such a gift of ''almost'' giving the reader a clear picture of what you mean but then blowing a beautiful fog over reality so it's just out of our grasp...left to our own imaginations. I think this is beautiful Uriah. It's interesting how even the night is perfumed in the eyes of a poet that is dying....very nice. sincerely, Mary

  • Scarlett Treat (3/11/2006 6:52:00 AM)

    For some reason people feel the need to have sex the first day they meet, with no time in there for the love to bloom, for a true courtship, and the poet may truly be dead. How very sad, but how well you express it! Scarlett

  • Sandra Fowler (3/10/2006 7:37:00 PM)

    Lovely poem, Uriah. It lingers in the mind like a gentle, half-forgotten tune.

    kindest regards,

    Sandra

  • Charles Chaim Wax (3/10/2006 7:35:00 PM)

    an accurate eye
    tuned
    to current truth
    with that grand
    romantic finish
    a wonderful poem

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