Friday Poetry

So I’ve been looking at poems of a more recent era recently and this one really caught my attention so I thought I would share it with you all.

 

Last Words

In the beginning was the Word,

Not just the word of God but sounds

Where Truth was clarified or blurred.

Then Rhyme and Rhythm did the rounds

And justified their jumps and joins

By glueing up our lips and loins.

 

Once words had freshness on their breath.

The Poet who saw first that Death

Has only one true rhyme was made

The Leader of the Boys’ Brigade.

Dead languages can scan and rhyme

Like birthday cards and Lilac Time.

 

And you can carve words on a slab

Or tow them through the air by plane,

Tattoo them with a painful jab

Or hang them in a window pane.

Unlike our bodies which decay,

Words, first and last, have come to stay.

 

Peter Porter

 

Lady Book Dragon.

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