The Grave of a Poet

On a cold evening I give my regards
I stand in snow next to the tomb
Lying under a spruce tree and those stars
As the one who shines, in this world is doomed

For those who have wisdom
Will be killed by those who have none

Through the porticos of life, I caress the memory
The feel of loss has passed as I stare the grave of a poet
Forms of art as variation of immortality
The feel of loss has passed as I stare the grave of a poet

I can leave, turn my head, turn my back and still I hear
Still I know, still I feel those touching words
Absurd to claim there is nothing after here
Denial of vision makes your own life blurred

For those who have wisdom
Will be killed by those who have none

Through the porticos of life, I caress the memory
The feel of loss has passed as I stare the grave of a poet
Forms of art as variation of immortality
The feel of loss has passed as I stare the grave of a poet