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Farewell

the city is sinking - i have measured it
it is on its last legs - though i treasred it
you few who stood agape & rebelling
you may now found a new city where one had been sitting

only i implore you look fpr the higher ground
because if words are rendered that does not make them sound

you must draw from the greats that preceded you
otherwise you will dish out a pedestrian stew
no one alive - poet or lumberjack - can stop learning
bent as he or she may be the midnight oil burning
words or axes must be sharpened with time
to fell a great tree or snare the perfect rhyme

as for me, i am going abroad
i am leaving the groups with one final prod
it will so much for the better i presume
to find likeminded poets who give spacious room
we will accomadate
we shall never hate
they will accept my rationality
as well my nationality

though actually given the planet of my birth
i am not of one nation
only of the earth
and that counts the most

poem by Stan Petrovich
Added by Poetry Lover
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