The Poet That Was Poem by Gayatri Lakhiani Chawla

No more of music, no more of rhyme,
Lost in the vicious circle of time,
So much for ego, so much for pride,
The poet in me has died.

Nothing seems perfect, nor perfectly right,
No more do I look at stars at night.
Sadness in these eyes that open wide
The poet in me has died.

Continuity in that incomplete line
Drowned away in laughter and wine,
Somewhere there is a sense of fear,
The end, the end is at last here,
The pen, the paper, the ink has dried,
The poet in me has died.