The False Poet

A poem about writing.

The False Poet


I wrote about love for a time
Before a dark shunning wind engulfed my heart
Words carried away with the dust and eagles
To high rocky cliffs beyond my reach

You come back for a glance now and then
Out of curiosity or contempt
Laughing
Maligning me
Mocking with disdain
Crucifying with looks

I was a poet once
Inspired
Hoped for unity
Now pages run empty
Void
Like my heart

I would shatter time for you if I could
But I strain at being a mere mortal
Flawed and decrepit
Reclusive
Solitary
Distanced from social arenas

Obduracy shrouds the truth
Thin cuttings beneath my breastplate
Flowing what’s left of person and dignity
Into obscurity