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.
