Sonnet Et Fin

I
Elegy for a Muse

My muse has died, a lingering death
Withered and enfeebled with her last breath
I’ll bury her now in hallowed ground
Heralding fairest prose, most profound
Whilst my heart is buried, by her side
She spoke only truth, and never lied
Composing now, embraced by earth
Only haunting verses to prove her worth
 Her gravestone stained, a perch for the birds
Is starkly plain and devoid of words
And so I chiseled devote, etched in dread
In smoking script I proclaimed her bed:

“Here she lies, bereft of life so fair,
Meaninglessly now in empty stare.
By grace she lived, and blessed she died
Our worlds ne'er meant to collide”

II

Elegy for a Poet

He died, pursuant a muse's death,
Poetic justice on an exiled breath.
Buried six feet beneath ground,
In a tide of red roses all around.
Composing secrets to the earth,
Back to the origins of initial birth.
Ashes to ashes dust to dust,
A lyrical soul, to the earth encrust.
They laid him beside his muse so fair
In a garden they’ll eternally share.
His beloved content now in death,
Here-after entombed on banished breath.
Words so sweet canst compare,
Talents had, tis agonized to bear.
From the chalice of death he sipped
On a tombstone writ in smoking script:

"Here he lies in flora fair,
With poetic grace, his bane to bear.
In a sea of roses and baby's breath,
Less famous alive, than in death."