Of An Unknown Poet Poem by Shirley Harrison

As I stand at the graveside

of an unknown poet

overgrown are the weeds

a tombstone with nothing written

I indulge deeply into my own reflections

and imaginings

just why doesn't this poet who lays beyond

the surface of this tomb have a name?

diving deep into the abyss of my mind

dwelling on my own beliefs and reflections

on why, some souls are just lost?

and maybe weren't supposed to have lived on earth?

lost human souls without peace within

roaming the world trying to find themselves

unconscious, if you will

never resting, yet never waking

from their darkened living

I often ponder on why

there are so many lost souls roaming the streets?

I see them, grey without glow

just a circle of darkness surrounding them

a coldness quite indescribable

but if I could describe it

I would say almost like a magnificent crystal sharp chill

but like I say, it's hard to describe

so here I stand beside the grave

of an unknown poet

and I think of how he or she possibly lived?

and how they may have died amongst the Ravens?

and my finale and my last thoughts came to mind

maybe they weren't lost at all?

maybe in the end, we are all…



unknown poets?