Giggle from the Grave

 What a man thinks of poetry his whole life
Fancy words like fancy cars owned by the rich?
What is Love? How does he express it?
Whats Romance? How does he sing it?
Whats pain? How does he feel it the right away

Sit with me here while I show you, teach you
Worms made their home in my eye sockets
The muscles with no bones I so dearly cherished, long gone
The fields in my brain I plowed, long lost
The dream makers, mixed in dust

Sit with me? Are you scared?
Scared to look at my face now?
Hold my arms, do you feel the pulse?
Do you hear the heart beat?
Do you see my chest pumping? Ah! Do I scare you?

Yes, I sit at my grave now.
I realized, a man could write the good poems only at his grave
You ask me when would we all become poets?
In the graveyards. In the graveyards we sing
The best poems of our lives

Each word in my head is growing wings
Oh they fly. Fly like butterflies and eagles
Some like moths and bats
Beautiful. magnificent, ugly and monstrous

The grave is my garden
The grave is my sky
The grave is my cave
Oh the graves, they are growing wings too?
No more shall they wait for you to come
They shall fly to you
Yes, they shall fly to you, take you by hand,
Snatching you away from what you know to what you could only imagine

Come, realize it now.
All the demons inside the head will be vanquished
These wings made of hollow bones, filled with Time
every flap consuming a second, a minute, an hour?
Can you even define time anymore?
Look into my endless eyes,
the darkness you see is where the maggots have made home
Enter and you shall no more be seen
You shall be caught in my poems

I sat at the horizon
Unknowing the Sun was setting and the creation was coming to an end
Half of me in light, half of me in darkness
Oh I struggled, suffocating in my own wisdom
At times I was Light and at times the bleakness
Where do I belong?
What am I?
Come with with me my dear,
I shall sit on my throne of bones
And the world shall hear my poems
Poems form the eternal graveyards