I read from many books
of many a great man
made immortal by
a magic stream of words
that tie together such beautiful simplicity:
a cloudy day
the rising sun
a setting moon
a forest of ashen tree
and sometimes within
exists a haunting relic
of emotion
that creeps to bed
with any so unlucky to
fall under such
a wondrous curse
and though I love
each and every rhyme or
flawless meter
I ponder
deep down
if I too could become
immortal
but I fear that I am too
late
the great ones all
long dead
and perhaps
such a wounding fear will
bleed the necessary ink
to stumble beneath my pen
and frame me
forever
within the page
that vessels such a simple brilliant act as:
golden ripples on a pond
a flower without a scent
the starless sky
a cold-handed lover
and maybe
some starry-eyed romantic
will genuflect to
the curse I have invoked
and dream of the
glorified death
of an ancient one
a great one
who wrote such immortal ink
that leaves him
sleepless
at night
Wes Thompson
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/if-nothing-else/
