i have no right
to speak for those
who sleep in rags
and pain
and die
like rats in steel-jawed traps
beneath
the walls of mansions
i have no right
but i hear
clear
their brave music
on each gust
of wind
Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing. – Todd Moore
to speak for those
who sleep in rags
and pain
and die
like rats in steel-jawed traps
beneath
the walls of mansions
i have no right
but i hear
clear
their brave music
on each gust
of wind