A Black Plague of PoetryA Poem by Dennis ShanabergI am a poet. I am a madman With a musket Firing off my rounds of sound Into the stormy seas. Like a pirate Taking over lost ideas Like the falling masts Of forgotten ships And making them my own. Because nothing is truly mine Just something known from other minds. That have been lost in the pages of time Just for me to shed to different light With words of hopeful wisdom and watered-down wit That some might maybe think is just hopeless s**t But that’s truly the joy of it The difference is in the differences that it illicits. Each word--a virus, To infect us all. Each letter, infection For the disease to dissolve Into your very blood Into your very mind Where it can fester and spread To live out for the rest of time. I want this to infect the world. This is a black plague of poetry-- Making the masses lose touch-- Insane. My pen pokes with fowl pin pricks Showing somehow just how sick I am, but dolling it up with a bow So, no one can truly know What is hidden beneath. So, they eat it up, And then they scream; Cuz they realize what they never believed. That the madness hidden in my wandering mind Makes all of them just like me. All of us are maniacally thinking thieves With falsely forgotten fearless dreams That for an unlucky some shall ever remain unseen. © 2013 Dennis ShanabergReviews
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2 Reviews Added on April 2, 2013 Last Updated on April 2, 2013 AuthorDennis ShanabergMentor, OHAboutAbout my Life… It’s a preface far too long For anyone to read. It’s growing longer everyday. Filled with love and laughter, life and greed. more..Writing
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