When the Heart Is Dead

When the heart is dead
The poet should be as well
If he allows verse
To wiggle out of
Bony intellectual crevices
Of the skull
Instead of dripping
From his veins
Like passionate blood
From deeply cut
Emotional wounds
Leaving psychic scars
Surviving for eternity
In the disconsolate universe.

poem by Uriah Hamilton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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