Everywhere I go I find John Keats 
at restaurants at shows at poetry meets
I ask him from whence do you come good sir
he lowers his eyes and ponders
from where
clearly I come from what is my history
why here why now and why to you is no mystery

I come from the 19th century when poetry was proper
from a time of common dying of virulent smother
and though my living was done in joy and in haste
a short life so full but a future laid waste
I feel grievous loss of what could have been
further words of nourishment through me were to be seen

i see my poetry lives on but with it I as a ghost
a poet lost to the world mere transient host
of love truth and wisdom beyond my young years
spoken words and transcripts for the world’s longing ears 
such that when it comes to longing I am the best
thus I cannot I will not lay my purpose to rest

so I have found thee my muse my restless spirit to guide
I will occupy you as poet and create from inside
your already worthy and agile mind
a readily moldable person generous and kind
one prepared to work throughout night and through day
to fulfil a life’s vision for a last stand and I say
an influence I will exert I no malign despot
just there to whisper words lost to time is my plot

my muse will know human hearts and souls to the core
and my muse will channel poetry such as never heard before
my muse will be one with me in spirit and in word
opening minds to joyous wonder at every utterance heard 
but with my haunting alas comes an ever pungent smell of death
thus I propose when done to bequeath to my muse 
a full life’s fragrant breath