The Death of Poetry

Jason over at Harsh Reality was able to put into words so eloquently, something I never could. He is a master at the keyboard. Worth the read, I promise you!

HarsH ReaLiTy

I stand before an open grave. Charred remnants of forgotten phrases lay upon a coffin of white. I long for what is held within… what I must do without from now on. Poetry is dead. I cannot find her hand in the dark without the help I so desperately need. I yearn for it, but I have made promises. It isn’t fair that I do not hold the talent to see the words I need, they vanish like the smoke I miss. I hear them pounding for freedom from within the grave as I quickly fill it with the dirt of anger. Anger… that is all that seems to find a home here now.

But I have made promises. They are far greater in importance than poetry. I will weep over her death later, but for now I drink. I drink to kill the dreams before they are born. I will…

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About Penny Wilson Writes

I am a freelance writer that writes in several genres. I've had a successful blog with a growing and loyal following for more than 5 years. I've written articles for Counseling Directory .org, Introvert Dear .com and WOW Women on Writing. I'm currently working on my first novel. You can find more of my writings on my blog at: and follow me on Twitter @pennywilson123.
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One Response to The Death of Poetry

  1. I am glad you liked the short write Penny and thanks as always for sharing it!


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