Thoughts Of A Concerto Poem by Stefon Napier
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Thoughts Of A Concerto
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.
Thursday, March 5, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: existence
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4/19/2024 9:08:04 AM # 1.0.0.1119
