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The Dead Language

by Dorian Black

O apathetic scholar,
you've relinquished your weary quill.
Set aside your silver tongue,
and left behind your rhythmic will.

The pages tan and whither
inside your abandoned book.
None care to admire;
none care to look.

The convictions once spoken,
with your heart and with your mind,
is now a dead language
sadly left behind.

And though it seems forgotten,
some are not so blind.
They wield your ancient weapon,
and serenade paper with rhyme.

O tired scholar,
your notes are not in vain.
We'll revive your dead language,
poetry will be its name.


Posted on 02/05/2012
Copyright © 2022 Dorian Black

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Shannon McEwen on 02/05/12 at 07:55 AM

I LOVE this.

Posted by A. Paige White on 02/09/12 at 08:40 PM

Beautiful! Giving it the highest marks {Even though you have to go through the whole sign in process again *sigh* which keeps me from saying/signing/rating much and perhaps that's a good thing ;-}

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 02/12/12 at 04:39 PM

Long live the dead language! Excellent use of imagery and rhyme, sir.

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 02/13/12 at 04:46 PM

Thankfully, there will always be those who love to write.

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