Shakespeare’s corpse is not rotten
THEY love to roast the old man’s flesh and
Set the world on fire
...
Dust and debris are dead
Now, brooms are swept
Pinioned, witches wail
...
Bard Word
Shakespeare’s corpse is not rotten
THEY love to roast the old man’s flesh and
Set the world on fire
Yes. To roast raw language
Into idiomatic ex-pressures, like
The very Shakespeare’s eye of the mind
It is no crime
Our world is a clime of hot theft
The bard’s meat being served in meetings
Yes. In formal gatherings
THEY call it straightforward language, prose
The bard’s sweat watering their blurry tongues
Even now, uncooked words from the bard’s head-sight
Lay unfinished
On the world’s literary plate
Then, if the bard’s language was NOT
Our world would have been bleak
With emotions buried in caskets.