last star
Perhaps there is one shinning light,
one star left in the depth’s of night,
someone to whom my all I’ll give,
who give me pause, a chance to live.
I dedicate my life to him,
his love, though flowing to the brim,
is his to give as is his need,
and though I feel no lack indeed,
there yet may come a fateful day,
when he will up and walk away,
but ill be ever ready, at his side to run.
How could I not?
He is my son.
Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.
Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| EVIL | 0 | 02/04/2014 |
| Disenchanted | 0 | 02/04/2014 |
| A poem of loss | 0 | 02/04/2014 |
| Lies | 0 | 02/04/2014 |
| She | 0 | 08/01/2013 |
| Last words of a sane man, | 0 | 06/26/2013 |
| untitled | 0 | 01/24/2012 |
| The Sadness | 1 | 01/23/2012 |
| last star | 0 | 01/13/2012 |
| SICK | 0 | 01/10/2012 |
| Little Ode | 0 | 01/10/2012 |
| HOPE | 0 | 01/10/2012 |
| The Pub | 0 | 10/08/2009 |
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