Chicano Poet

Friday, April 02, 2010

Last Writes

Byron waited in the chariot
while they set fire to Shelley.

Shelley’s widow like a fruit
pulled from the vine too soon.

From across the Mediterranean
darkness descended.

The funeral pyre
struggling with its fire.

Purple waves lapping
at the shore.

Ashes floated in the cold sea air
and flickered one last time.


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