Dead Poetry

If in your lifetime no one understands you,

or trusts you, or loves you,

as I do --

If every word you echo fades to silence,

Meaningless to everyone who glances,

in and out like water,

and you die --

If even to my like-minded brothers,

lost inside their own echoes,

locked in dusty boxes on the mantle,

you're invisible, superfluous to them --

Even if you're dying as you're born,

Still, inside my body

as I write --

You still create a universe in me,

Expanding and alive between the ashes.

The End

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