I watch on Keats,
His demise, a Poetry class
Standing wise, he decides
He has no identity is quoted said
An act or filler for the steed instead
A galient rider he doth, does portray
A license of nothing to do or say
A carcass dead and a leaf all too small
Dirt in the mud, mud in a jar
If opened there is a chance to emit
A worm still alive, waiting for dead
And instead we all choose to smile
And say shrews and angels could still
Paint, such divide, the senses dulled
Pointed front, diving to make all that
Shakes and shakes, like the bones
The skin, troubled within, changing
The chambers pressing peace in, just like
Sin there will always be two parts
One which splits, throws away, from friends
Meaning nothing it can depart, another side
Will redeem all dismayed, if only to see alive
To be stoned by crowd again one day.
Christopher Baird 2011 ©
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