Sleep, poet, sleep
your words come to an end
for all the lines composed before
you never could transcend
Sleep, poet, sleep
mourn not the dying flame
nor the waning ancient light
that covered your mortal shame
Sleep, poet, sleep
for lest you share the sins
of frigid words written since
you caught the fiercest winds
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Comments
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So essentially poets would be better off dead which I gather you mean in the metaphorical sense, meaning to put down your pen. Your title seems to indicate that by doing so the poet will regain a sense of who they were before they essentially sold out.
I think it's ironic too that you wrote this with quite a poetic flare.
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Oh, to think that one could never transcend
or be the shining light again might cause
a sleeplessness, rather than calm sleep,
one would think. Ah, to read again when
the poet's heart is warmed, words on fire!
Hmmmm.... perhaps an electric blanket?
The title gives hope to the reader
that once more the poet's words
would surpass the past!
M-C
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