Cold winter's white blanket has bled grey-black from Jersey's sooty shores,
Here 'neath shadows of Wall Street's towered sky,
Here in Richmond, where ne'er he lived,
Here his aspirations lay lifeless,
His words - voiceless,
His legacy - meaningless.
No tears shed here in Richmond, when Kaddish dirge is done,
No mourners weep the poet, once his song is sung,
And though his life was nought,
At least with truth he sought,
To place perspective still,
Upon this Richmond hill,
And though his words contained no wing,
At least his lips one time didst sing,
"Dark Voices, Exorcise, Dark Deeds."
(1991)
His aspirations lay lifeless, words voiceless, legacy meaningless. I haven't imagined, one can expose features of death in beautiful sequence like you. No doubt, death is ultimate destination and conclusion of life. An exceptional write, undeniably an incredible creation, dear poet
Beautiful poem. Love it. Please kindly check my poems HOPE and THE BEAUTY OF DEATH. Kingsley Egbukole
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nicelydone. I love the flow of words and ryhthm.