the death of a poet
my words bleed no more
bandaged and clotted
how they stop in their tracks
my entire body trembling
for the very last time
three angels hover above me
I pretend not to see them
and though they say nothing
I easily read their thoughts
just as they easily know mine
I ask for pen and paper
but nobody hears my call
so I arise from the table
unshaken and all on my own
resurrecting words left unsaid
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
Reblogged this on As it Comes and commented:
Another amazing piece.
Thank you very much, Anita!
You’re most welcome.
Between “my words bleed no more” and “resurrecting words left unsaid”: the tremble of the body, none hearing the call, the imagery of the three angels. Resignation murmured beautifully. Splendid poem!
Thank you very much, I’m happy you enjoyed this piece!
You are welcome!
John, this is beyond words. Something stirred in me while reading it. So simple yet so alluring. Thanks for writing.
thank you Kanika for visiting and reading my poetry today ~ and for commenting on this piece
This is brilliant poetry.
I’m happy you think so, Shawna, thank you.
Amazing! It was such a great read
thank you for visiting on commenting on this piece
and who will mourn?
that’s a very good question!