Epitaph for a Poet
in the forest of poetry,
rotting on the ground,
feeding millions.
My steady eyes
beckon from your fire,
my restless tongue
licks your face and hands.
Thus am I consumed
by pure kinetic flame,
grateful to be burned
and born again this way.
For beyond this grave
of coals and ashes,
my sap will rise again
and fan the moment.
You will seek
the wild fruit I bear,
your children will play
among my branches.
I will be a cathedral
of leaves and bark
with windows of light
sown by prophetic hand.
Then one day
I will fall again,
and give you shelter
from the storm.
June 2, 2005
Previous Entry Next Entry Return to Songs and Letters About the Author
Also by William Michaelian
POETRY
Winter Poems
ISBN: 978-0-9796599-0-4
52 pages. Paper.
����������
Another Song I Know
ISBN: 978-0-9796599-1-1
80 pages. Paper.
����������
Cosmopsis Books
San Francisco
Signed copies available
Main Page
Author�s Note
Background
Notebook
A Listening Thing
Among the Living
No Time to Cut My Hair
One Hand Clapping
Songs and Letters
Collected Poems
Early Short Stories
Armenian Translations
Cosmopsis Print Editions
Interviews
News and Reviews
Highly Recommended
Let�s Eat
Favorite Books & Authors
Useless Information
Conversation
E-mail & Parting Thoughts
Flippantly Answered Questions