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Apr 04, 2008
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Ivory
There must be a place
where poems go to die
like weeping elephants
making that long, slow
sacred journey
tusk after
forlorn tusk
solemnly wait
bold thieves
hunt
desecrate a dark
and holy ground,
and someone, somewhere
will surely pick up the remains of this poem
and carry off a word or two
on bent back,
ready to carve a fragrant
and trumpeting memory.
where poems go to die
like weeping elephants
making that long, slow
sacred journey
tusk after
forlorn tusk
solemnly wait
bold thieves
hunt
desecrate a dark
and holy ground,
and someone, somewhere
will surely pick up the remains of this poem
and carry off a word or two
on bent back,
ready to carve a fragrant
and trumpeting memory.
— Kailashana, Apr 04, 2008
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Critiques
professor
18 years 2 months ago
Not like you this...
abrelosojos
18 years 2 months ago
loved the first and last