Ego Of The Poet Poem by James McLain

Brag to me no more to you if what I wrote tis gone.
The special place where I would with you go
between the wall is stuffed with words.
Paper balls I've wadded up to keeps me warm.
In my dreams your naked marching up and down the street.
What you created in me has long since departed as a ghost.
I tore it down the wall that for you I built up.
The way you spoke to me the way that I would sleep.
But as long as silence draws me nigh will you be there.
Great ego in my head if while alive
and dead will speak my name but not in life if I be dead.
Insatiable are the wantings in the dark and in the Light.
Somewhere there the ego in my head I can't let go.