I Did Not Kill Poetry, It Died Poem by Suki Nakamura

do not ever accuse me of killing a poem

all things die
the rivers dry
the birds fall and rot
the ants that ate every flesh and carried every feather
themselves were carried by the water
the water that came and created the flood
got sucked by the cracks of the earth
the quake swallowed it
the cracks died they were covered by the volcanoes
magma overflowed

the poem died. No one kills it.
Like all things they cease too.

The poet's hands that wrote it
Too died a long time ago.

The poet's mind that thought about it
Like all things, it was gone too.

Do not ever accuse me of killing a poem.
If i did it, i may have killed myself

For without a poem, I am nothing.