Thoughts Of A Concerto - Poem by Stefon Napier
I am dying
Fury makes for a brief existence
Going up somewhere where it is cold.
The sun is ticking away in my back pocket.
You are so beautiful that you look like a memory.
It is not insignificant to die,
your craft plays on like echoes tickling the backs of mountains.
Your day is dancing.
Yesterday survives only because I am dying in an opera.
Topic(s) of this poem: existence
Form: Prose Poem
Comments about Thoughts Of A Concerto by Stefon Napier
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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