Death to the poem
Monotony in your voice
Your tongue slaughtering the words
Like a knight in a raid slicing the words
As if there were mythical dragons
Reading so fast as if your were in retreat
flow no longer existing like the black majik of the dark ages
Creating the words haphazardly
Not feeling the words but speaking them
as if they were a plague to be rid of quick
Not savoring the emotions
But stumbling on them like a drunk
Unlike yours
My words flow with the power of Excalibur
You are merely a peasant
And I Merlin
Creating ecospheres of librettos
That intoxicate your heart with joy
Your voice setting the village ablaze
And I raining down with elegance
Like the rains that save the crop
And on its tombstone
“Death to The Poem by your Tong