A Dead Poet by May !!

I have walked enough
on meadows decorated with pebbles,
and I have relished
the grass- wet and supple.
I have seen enough
that could stir me to write
I have felt a world
of senses
that sees nothing but fight-
a fight of actions with
words sawn off a shotgun
words blunt, words beautiful
words, that satiated my anxieties
as a lively cover-up tool
words that spilled my brains
and hearts onto roads
words that lied my pains
and fired blood in my goads.
They styled my voice
till I stood the test of time
now that I falter
its all a matter of shame
It 's something I dare not say
But I think
I am a dead poet by May !!

The girl, the angel,
the salt of my poems
ready to fly off, ready to swell
fanning my dreams to flames.
She had weaved magic in my heart,
spurred ruckus in my head
she has shaped my art
and words to my lines fed.
I wish she lives her best
- lives the charm of my words
I wish she conquers every test
and holds all her cards.
Wish she finds a man
to show her a better world;
a world beyond a web of words,
a world beyond paper-borne festivities.
I wish she finds the carnival
brimming with joy -
and mirth of pursuit
The man be me
and feet her own
but while she prepares for the noon
I fear
I would fade off soon
for my words would have
nothing to decorate-nothing to say
And I think
I am a dead poet by May !!

I fear I will fail to see
the symbols all around
I think I will struggle to read
the lines that
once an aria sound
I fear the leaves shall wilt
but for want of fresh water
and light to help them breathe
I fear the light shall distance
enough to be able to smother
and rob it of her fragrance.
I fear the soil shall dry,
and in case not
- the roots get weak
enough to pull the water beneath;
I fear I will lose the zeal
to ever attempt, draw
the sword from its sheathe;
I fear if any beauty
in any form,
will ever water my senses;
I pity
I would otherwise have to say
I am a dead poet by May !!