The Old Poet’s Lament by Francesca Diano


Poets’ Corner in Westmintser Abbey

The Old Poet’s Lament


Grey graves grinding the ground

shocking screeches merging into darkness

till death do us depart – oh my bones and flesh!

we will be soon apart – my young laughing

mouth just a wide wide wide

NOTHING in this world – no words

will ever be enough and still too much

to bear my angry VOICE raising

from my tomb while still alive and roaring

like a guardian angel after a thief

robbing the treasure cave.

I am a dead man walking down the streets

piercing the empty eyes of passers-by

with my naked body – stripped of its future.

The world is but  a graveyard where

whispering ghouls suggest

a better way to dig our graves

and hand us spades.

Scratching my head I bid my friends farewell

going to a land where Poetry’s still alive

the land of nowhere – do I know its place?

Why listen to crumbling relics of the past

blabbering empty-eyed their verses

to the gawping crowd? Crows do better.

I was a young poet once – now just old

tired of white lies and black deeds.

My hands are empty of this world

my throat is empty of its words

empty-headed I walk through barren

fields of nothingness.

Let’s find a land where poets still can sing

and cry and dream within a golden sphere.



(C) 2012 by Francesca Diano RIPRODUZIONE RISERVATA