The Last Poem

By John Herlihy

The last poem written,

always seems the first.

instead of satisfaction,

it offers lingering thirst.

The heart feels so spent,

intrigue found in mystery.

Deep into my well I went,

To discover lasting beauty.

Will I ever again capture,

The essence of a thought?

That fills me with rapture,

To unveil all that I sought.

The last poem written,

Always seems the last.

Instead of satisfaction,

But a memory now past.

A little taste of death,

Without having to die.

A little lasting sorrow,

Without having to cry.

Give me one last poem,

One jewel never to dim.

One last pure inspiration,

The seeking heart to win.

May the last poem endure,

Its lyric music to offer cure.