Shakespeare, Tennyson, Frost, Poe and I

How much more
at least once more
into the breach
as one of the dead
another symphonic dirge
playing in your head
to seek, to find
and not to yield
until at least
one more soul is healed
til fear stops rapping at my chamber door
and my heartbeat stops sounding
from under the floor
to take the road
less traveled, in hopes
that I might find the name of a rose
to smell that life is good and sweet
to finally get a good night’s sleep
for my fight is not yet
over and done
I’ll find my work
has just begun
my sword and shield has always been
my blood bleeding through
a humble pen

About Eric

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