Flowers for the Dead

Another sentence,

that no one will see.

Another penance, 

for everything I can't be. 


Centuries past,

Romantics and Shakespeare, 

their words still last, 

they've yet to disappear. 


Passion consumes me,

what do I desire?

Easy ---a legacy.

All I want is to inspire. 


Fire and stardust, 

no in-between.

My motives are just, 

living off caffeine. 


Desperation and aching,

from words not yet said. 

Energy and waking, 

thanks to those already dead. 


Taking time, it is now I find, 

Crafted from their poetry,

I have destroyed and combined --

I am a reborn entity.

This poem is about: 


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