deaf ear, screaming thoughts, poetry breathes

I tried to read the love
of Prufrock
to my friends who
laughed and yawned.
 
I tried to show them
the dynamite's fuse
in my heart
and the flame 
poetry can give
the unknowing.
 
I thought I could burn
them too, help them feel
the explosion
inside me.
 
But my friends
laughed like toads
and croaked
at me:
poetry is dead.
 
So I left them
smiling
and feeling
my heart burst
from the dynamite
alive.

Reviews

[Conversations Kill]

haha! lovely! I know what you mean, i like the flow of this piece.