Death of a Young Poet

My heart is weary with sorrow,

a poet was murdered in Tripoli,

slaughtered by mercenaries

who serve at a madman's beck.

 

He was very young,

just eighteen.

Corresponding with me

is the only "Revolutionary" act

of his short life.

 

We always spoke of poetry,

books or music,

never politics.

 

His poetry was about beauty.

Beauty he found in small things;

a rosebud, a baby's giggle,

his Mother singing in the garden.

He often wrote of desert dawn;

the thousand shades of purple

that grace only desert morning skies.

 

A poet was murdered in Tripoli,

he went out to get baby milk

for his nephew, his sister's child.

Now her heart is heavy

with pain and guilt.

 

A poet was murdered in Tripoli. . . . .

 

Reviews

[Allen Smuckler]

how touchingly sad...
an excellent tribute to a friend and colleague
I'm sorry for your loss
allen

[Dream Weaver]

Astoundingly melancholy: Beautiful words to
credit graciousness of a fallen poet…
Nicely done!