The Last Poem

Speak me the last poem
of the last poet
The words
they whisper to the void
The offerings
to the drawing darkness—
which we
did not avoid

Speak me the ink
on their fingers
The characters
typed to a screen
The last fleeting thoughts
as they thought them,
before all that there is
became 'been'

Speak me the vanishing
Speak me their truth
Speak me their aching despair
Capture the sonnets
fading out on the wind
The flickering proof
we were there

Speak me the longing
The last heartrending prayer
Our fragments
they cannot forget
Speak me their curses and malice
Speak me their deepest regret

Speak me the tragedy
The speed of its loss
The ashes
of all that's been said
Speak me the words
they had chosen,
before all that we were
became dead

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