Acrostic: The Next Thing You Know
©Oct. 28th 2020, Olan L. Smith
Thunderously, the end came for him, just boiled water and burnt flesh―
Head split open, and eyes bugged-out was his topmost finish, but the
Ending it was. He was like the tree blasted into lumber with a zap,
Nothing was left but cooked flesh, a scorched water bag busted open,
Extended arms like a scarecrow in a field, a cartoon character where
X marks the spot; "Here is the place where the poet met his fate!"
Timbers in an X etch the end of a person who braved the storm.
Tick-tock, the last spasms of the poet's hands; no clapping, no approvals.
Herders guide their sheep around the hapless spot disgraced by the hex,
Indigenous to the last dwelling of the man who met his terrible fate.
Nonetheless, gather round and learn the fate of Alexander Willingham,
Greatest poet of his time, he is lost in the great beyond, a deep mist
You cannot part, he is lost forever until he is yet again, no religion?
Only what you touch and see, then this is not for you, for he will rise
Unto himself, and roam this world to haunt all who curse his death.
Knighting himself in words of verse and prose, he is the greatest
Never to be surpassed, just ask him he'll tell you of his fame.
Overtly, his words he wrote, he came to earth to know himself,
Whether you believe in ghosts or not, X marks the spot, best avoid.
(A/N: Alexander Willingham is a fictional character, and any resemblance to someone living or dead is purely coincidence)
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Poems from the Quill, by Olan L. Smith
Poetry"Poems from the Quill" is where I place current works that don't fall into other collections. It is here you will find obscure poems that range from constraint to free-verse. I began this collection as a contest entry, years ago, for what was then t...
