- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The Death of Poets
Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.
You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.
Click here
Is it any wonder how writers,
even so young -
their faces tight and bright with sun,
their eyes agleam -
how yet they still succumb
to emptiness?
Their faucets dripping dry;
an empty sky,
no air; nowhere to run,
no thoughts to dream?
Then, let the bullets fly.
Let blades invade the vital stream.
Let souls depart.
And in ascension seem
to find their heart
- COMMENTS
Paul4playabout 1 month agoCould it be that poets must first suffer their death?
Succumb to emptiness with their faucets dripping dry?
And only then, will they ascend to life?
A poetic life?
HottieOlwenabout 1 month agoThere once was a poet called DK
Who wrote verse in a suggestive way
Her rhymes were clever and slick
They made many a prick
Stand up stiff and hard night and day.
She wrote about women and men
And the kinks which they practiced, and then
She sent them to Lit
Who did their publishing bit
And they were read over again and again
🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟
