it's not over
until the poet
speaks the last words
it is not done
the West is not won
yes the best is yet to come
down to the last pen on earth
until the world has heard
its very last verse
the sonnets & prose
will live on pages after page
evermore spoken in whispers
loosely fit for framed gold
loose leaf scrolls & more
on paisley printed compositions
to black and whiten tapestry
fashionably forming history
grasping and directing the
key to turn in time to escape
the madness only madmen
make in the wake of
earthshattering
bumps in the night
unshaken poet
unafraid to write