the day the poetry died. the music left replaced by machine noise the poets once stood firm, sang their off rhymes even if kings and tyrants commanded the pen typewriter processor quill bloody finger, silent but the mirror-pools were abandoned. became dry thrumming prosthetics and the kryptonite shine blinded ears and eyes sleepless the inner citadel crumbled the voices once lived a new drug dragged them down, some bards still sang, but few heard the receptors, overstimulated occupied. the day the poetry died. 1.2 7/5 © right now, Brian Peter Hodgkinson poetry • music • machine • meditation • artificial
The Day the Poetry Died
07
Apr
d.a.simpsonwriter
April 8, 2022 at 5:43 am
Splendid write ✍
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