NO ONE WILL CARE ABOUT THIS POEM UNTIL I AM LONG DEAD


 

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No one will care about this poem
until I am long dead.
Isn’t that the way of it?
Here I am to make
some impression
a ghost of a difference,
but it’s 2012
who the hell reads poetry anymore?

 

I borrowed an anthology of poetry
looking for inspiration.
I get more from the little inscription
on the back:
“Academic deconstruction
and intellectual dissection
are the death of poetry.”
or something like that.

The point is, I think,
that analyzing poetry to death
is desecrating the body
of the work
and missing the fact that
poetry
is a work of the soul
and who the hell even cares
about whether or not form is dead.

I forgot my point.
It was going to be brilliant,
life changing maybe
even revolutionizing the genre.

Doesn’t that sound so pretentious?

No one will care about this poem
at all, I figure.

They sure as hell don’t care about it now.

© christine DINGLEY 2012

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2 thoughts on “NO ONE WILL CARE ABOUT THIS POEM UNTIL I AM LONG DEAD

  1. I know this probably goes without saying, but I care. As a matter of fact, I’ll always care – whether it’s about your poetry or about you yourself. Never forget that. ^_^

    • Oh, and just a side note for anyone else reading this: I know the poet in real life. I’m not some creepy creeper. xD

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