Lost Poem
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A ProphecyA Prophecy
They were not worthy enough to keep me I stole myself from them
Hidden in a little memory behind the bookcase’s shelf I remain,
They were not with ears present to hear me speak as I did
I wrote my sorrow on a paper withered like a fading tune they missed,
Long past the cheerful dawns I lay awake lonesome in my bed
Sleep robbed dream barren silence gave birth to intellect,
Pen mated virgin parchment I conceived thought out of nothing-ness
Ink trailed history pale with disuse sights they always misunderstand,
Out of this dark night a phoenix singing will arise
From dust to dust and ashes to divine light.
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