Burial

As my hand slowly moves across this empty paper
The same paper that moved so many people
That gripped their attention, dispensing them of all desires and wants
Those made my lines seem like fists
Cautious thoughts, became dangerous
And same unstable topics became the center of gossip
This empty graveyard that holds my buried poetry
I am indeed afraid of this graveyard, that’s why I don’t visit the dead
Instead it is time for me to look past the past
I’ll savor the memories, what ever would last because in my mind
I was a fine poet; no one could ever tell me other wise
But I can’t hold it, though it hurts me to know that all good things must come to an end

I sit back, reminiscing to all this shit I would be missing
Flipping through archives of poetry, with all kinds of poetry
But this eulogy is tearing me in two, to choose a fate between what is and what was
What is now dead, but what was once life
My life
My soul
I hold this pen, which now becomes my shovel….
I write my fate as I erase my past
No longer taking the same path anymore
My journey has come to an end
My final burial is here
Tears of final thoughts dripping and vanishing
Quickly splashing on this patch of dirt

This casket is closing in on me
How couldn’t I see, that I brought this fate upon me
I hold my breath to savor the life I had
I throw my lifelines away
Lowering my past into a coffin into the ditch that I made
I do not write any more
Because I don’t have any more tears
Because my rays of inspiration were never really there
I’m not a writer anymore, that’s dead now
It’s gone, only to haunt my pages of former words that still dwindles in the fire
And that’s the meaning of a ghostwriter
I’m still scared of what my future holds
I know what was, is not what is
But what would happen if what was is in my what is?
I can’t cope with memories, because it brings back what kills…..

I sit back in my chair
Still staring at my empty paper just like 3 minutes ago
Still staring at my burial
Still staring at my graveyard
Still staring at this shovel, that has dug my hole
Still waiting….
Till my last breath takes me away
At least for while, just a few months
Still waiting….
Patiently, till I can get my life together
Poetry is dead; I am doing this for the better
Nevertheless, I am not to be underestimated
A poet that has done his job 100 times over deserves a break
But now this is it for me

Mr. Prolific Poet
2005-2007

May You Rest In Peace…

~Still is SlamFam for Life~

~I Miss You~