Corpse of a poet

The corpse of a poet…
It doesn't hang from
A tree branch
Nor its remains
Lie scattered on the railway track
The corpse of a poet…
The vultures don’t feed on it
For its is made of thorns
The splinters in the bleeding heart
The arrows that pierced the eyes
The corpse of a poet
It doesn’t whimper for the
Tears of the world
For his lover is his unspoken word
The corpse of a poet
It doesn’t
Get decomposed in a coffin
Nor the maggots devour on it
For it is the words you forget
The sunstone, the fossil…
The corpse of a poet
It just vanishes one day
Leaving behind the memories
And there begins the voyage to vacuum
To the sun
(Or to the black hole?)
The corpse of a poet