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Click hereday’s vivid light, fading soon
sea of clouds, a wading moon
the clock, it ticks
the clock, it tocks
a cloud of spirits at night ferry’s dock
to see the land off cemetery’s block
hands clasping tickets
hands clasped in pockets
a silent crowd that craves mankind
leaving the mossy graves behind
visit those alive
but stand aloof
we wayfare to bedrooms on slow air streams
and come to see their mediocre dreams
then twist it here
and bend it more
hopes and fears, a marinade
stop it! hear our serenade
listen to the tunes
feel it in your bones
when we find a soul so dull, so ashen
we tune its receiver to Radio Passion
then relax your mind
and listen, my friend
early death has withheld untold capers
we lend your hand to unfold papers
receive the bold rhymes
conceived in old homes
spirit bards stand at your side, dressed in cotton twill
squeezing out midnight heat from their forgotten quill
taking your notes
filling your sheets
I’m captured in your hex
oh, your shapes so convex
full of intent to tease and vex
hidden beneath the shiny latex
let me clamber up passion’s apex
boiling fluids in my inner complex
you make my nous and limbs flex
to reach out for your soft vertex
create Kamasutra’s new annex
inspired by our stea...
Once more, so close! Now, what the heck?
The call of the graves draws us back
again, no poem to submit
but one night, we will succeed
the tombstones are silent to let the voices be heard. TK U MLJ LV NV
A big hooray to the Undead Poets Societies, or libraries as they usually are called. Places to remember what once had been in people's mind, transported through time by the tombstones of Literature and Poetry - or tomes, if you like that better. Places to go and be inspired, to imagine, to dream, to be creative yourself - well, strictly during opening hours only, of course...Thanks to all those librarians out there, and those people that do their best to keep them busy and employed.