Death of Poetry

Poetry is a dying art,
Written from the joy or pain of someone’s heart.
Death of a mind may come with the death of a poem,
The once-beautiful art is now gone and searching for a new home.
But what will take its unoccupied place?
Perhaps this will be decided by an outstanding race!
Written on dirty bathroom stalls,
On the floor all crumbled up in little paper balls.
Poetry has lost the dear respect that it once had,
Yet poetry stays amazingly calm and doesn’t get uncontrollably mad.
Although poetry is struggling to survive,
Maybe someday it shall be revived.