A Dead Poet Is A Rich Poet Poem by Trunami ...

fellow poets may I adjure your wishful conception
as to a plight in which few may pierce its actuation
does it really beackon the clap of a thundercloud
for poetry writers with great success to be enshroud
should even such an omen force our behavior
for words born of subconscience labor — savior?

yes, through somber nights the compelled one writes
with gregarious might and contrite unleashing his rights
arising per occasion, captured within the cage of dawn
the pen drags his hand around moving naive to the yawn
minutes become hours become days become weird
days become weeks become months become year-ed

like the marathon of light running ‘cross pure universe
you and I live to die on living ‘cross pure poetic verse
seemingly every truly success-fullfulling poet must offer up
his very last breath before rich, surely ending up
so if you endeavor to never know it ‘n ever sow it
our fate as forever clever, a dead poet is a rich poet