From Beyond The Grave

Instead of, replacing, substitute

great lines of mere words in order.

Great men, musicians, playwrights, novelists

stealing my future from their graves

Stalling me in my tracks for style

Mocking my attempts at verse

Without batting an eye for a plagiarist

who ‘quotes’ them in inverted commas

borrowing from their fame and efforts

neither trialled or gaoled or censured.

Unapologetically me this time, I must be.

Lining the silks of my own coffin, with words

that will last a million years much longer

then a mere hundred or so and be catapulted

into space to represent the human race…

I don’t know how it will be yet and then I

will be gone. Next 2 me in Westminster

Abbey, you may have sat and wept for this

and for that placing your cup on my tomb

and leaving it there for the cleaners to remove.

Nevermind me, turn me into a literary tragedy

before I am born again. Let the fan who made the

pilgrimage to see me weep at your unthinking

actions. Fear not they will not strike you, but god might.

And remember ‘Don’t plagiarise¬†me!’

A Watkins Nov. ’17

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