[Newspoetry] Lost Voices

[DL Emerick]

Lost are the voices that fall silent.
They speak no words, while absent now,
where once they cast up their being,
spent in phrases, writing reverses,
writing news as it ought to be 
forensic poetic justice.

The world never cared half so much
as when they were writing in fire
small words blazing in darker lines
cutting sense from solemnity,
waking from writhing cobra sway,
undulation's inervation.

I miss the poets, now out of season,
ones fallen from the sky to earth,
shedding godless divinity,
touching down to firm ground again,
extinct as passenger pigeons,
statues pictured in a still life.

Normal is never good enough,
habitual as sleepwalking,
ordinary becomes mundane,
a thing of the world unthinking,
regular as a mechanic,
tick-tocking away ideal time.