A Poem About The Death Of A Poem

This, unfortunately

is a poem about the death of a poem, how tragic

it was up writing itself under starlight 

but had only gotten as far as "It was a beautiful blue night…"

when it packed up it's ink

and it spilled

blotting out the "beautiful" 

It wrapped itself in a headcloth made of old torn washcloth

and felt convinced

it wouldn't be written off

as just some billboard

that walked

and observed

other words bigger than it knew

but while a dog sniffed it's crease

a boy tried to rearrange it to something dirty

then folded it into a paper airplane

and sent it off into flight

it wandered aimlessly in the world

passing tombstones with names like 'Moonstone' and 'Little Ghost Joni'

up on to rooftops 

until the wind pushed it on

across a desert with auto-hydrating cactus

through a shop called "spartan of tartan"

when finally, it stopped

and unravelled itself on road

but without a great rooftop wind

it couldn't avoid the metal centipede with four rubber legs

that ran it over

and erased it from existence

and as it writhed and desperately fought to self-edit

it couldn't

and when detectives from the secret federal bureau of the artistic preservation society

found it

they scratched their heads

wondering what made it such a horribly "blue night"

Reviews

[Kaitlynn]

This is very descriptive. Great job! I loved it!

[Richard]

very descriptive like "you no longer have a purpose?"

[Kaitlynn]

No. I was complimenting your work by saying how well you described the poem's adventure.

[Richard]

embellishment