• What's in a poem without emotion?
    Turmoil, strangling, suffocating, commotion?
    It's like the words quiet your needed breath,
    Then drown you in silence to your tramatic death.
    Words, they stare and laugh and mock -
    That their writer, their poet's heart is locked.
    And what's the use to write without an open heart?
    There's no brain, no story, no future, no part.
    And I thought Shakespeare said we're in a play:
    We keep on and on 'til our dying day.
    Up here on this stage, reading our lines -
    And behold it's the words who give us spines.
    But what happens to me, when I'm lost?
    Nightmares of an actor where dreams are tossed.
    Words are a fear, not my only truth -
    And memories never stay - always aloof.
    So narrate my life in an apathetic mode -
    While my head is bowed for an ending episode
    Of my life in this poem without emotion,
    A vaguely, independent notion,
    Without a purpose, without a care,
    The show must go on, without me there.
    So Shakesy, dear love, carry on and leave
    Beneath the words is where I'm supposed to be.
    The meaning beyond what's being said.
    My accursed, meaningless verse ceasing, dead.