Life struck cruel like rogue lightening;

Her celebrated optimism and artistic zeal expired 

 she crumpled into a withdrawn puddle;


Ignored by those normal members of society,

left alone, her poetic heart, hopes and dreams voided, 

profusely bleeding as she lay dying in the corner shadows;


Evanescence of her shimmering identity,

bleeding great pools of quasar syllables, 

words running quickly, thickly red

in between the lines of her poetry.


And who would even recall her

words, spilled her vivacious  ink,

quickly forgotten, a quietly deleted legacy



Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is something I have observed in looking at older poetry friends who I once knew and appreciated.

It's been a long time since I had visited the site.

it was sad to see some prolific writers were now forgotten.

at least we remember some who are published....


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