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Untitled

A Poem by Dietrich von Crowe

So much potency there is within a poet’s muse.
Much like a serpent’s bite    it seizes viciously,
Only to rot him slowly through.
Every bite ends one of many dreams, and a service
He endorses in memoriam each departed fragment:
The skeletal remains interred in pages,
Ink to mark the graves with the Devil’s grin   
All executed as a final will and testament.

© 2011 Dietrich von Crowe


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Added on April 7, 2011
Last Updated on April 7, 2011