Posthumous Publicity - Poem by Linda Collins
Pointless poet that I am
Wandering lost amid the high walls of literature
I write my tragedy upon my soul
And edit with a quick slice to the throat
Until the words splatter upon the floor.
Fat, red words that cool and congeal about my feet.
The words will spill
Until I am over
Then how fast those lofty walls will crumble
Leaving me to wonder why I suffered all these long years
When it was oh, so easy to be read?
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye