"One whose name was writ in water" is the epitaph upon the gravestone of John Keats
To Those Whose Name Was Writ in Water
To ghosts which walk about our imagination,
we have surrendered counsel, yielded consolation.
They are the souls of the might-have-been,
kindred brethren yoked to our liquid center,
who've never endured the pain of intelligence,
never walked the bed-of-coals of perception,
yet, they have wisdom nestled on ethereal neurons.
To semaphores which count a poet's unused resources,
written in the higher code of life's metaphor,
iteratively substituting words to distill a truth,
a single universal life experience upon which to dwell,
all taken from myriad axioms of cerebral ecstasy.
This is writing, Suzanne, and you have tasted it, as well.
We are craftsmen in the medium of language,
poets following the involuntary way.
Poetry by Brian Oarr
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Written on 2013-01-15 at 23:10
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