The Last Poet

spoke to us, some-

times

 

through leaves

 

Forbidden

we listened

 

I was a poet

once

 

 

in such a world of love

 

 

In one

the novel

all

 

philosophy

 

in love

 

 

And this

was lit up-

on

at last

 

 

Some passed

in fire

in iron, some

and rusting

 

 

I lived

it seems

I live

relinquished in

this prison

 

These ashes live on ashes

 

The wind

the leaves

and we shook

 

Will you come in?

 

“I think,” said someone

running, “he’s

the devil”

 

And we breathed

agreement

 

 

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3 thoughts on “The Last Poet

  1. It’s like the culture prefers the door marked “Lecture on Poetry” over the one marked “Poetry.” Since we can’t hear it, anymore, with our own inner ears. Very nice poem.

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