A Poet's Death Or Encore? Poem by Shirley Harrison

If it not be love, please let me die

for it is I, and I alone

who can know

my true feelings, deep within my soul



my darling, it is but for you, that I breathe

my wrists could be tied with burning rope

I would resist the flames for your heart

I'm already under your charm filled spell



I love you

more than the most magnificent sunset

ever to lay down onto this gracious earth

beams of dusk skidding off waves onto land

from the ocean so very grand



but…

If you were indeed to deny my love

then I shall sleep deeply in an everlasting dream

a poetess forever hoping

to change a broken past into love

for you my darling

I would, I would go to the end of the world



now to you' my audience'

here upon you

is your opportunity to laugh loudly…



as the great mohair grand drapes fall

dramatically to the floor

I get caught up

falling most ungraciously

ass over tit

entangled are both my body and pride

underneath this the main curtain



leaving me rather red faced

oh, how, how, how

could I possibly take my bow now?

even William Shakespeare himself

would have died, in shame 'again'.