Commonalities: Poetry by D. L. Lang

Their words fading into dust.
Never recognized by their towns,
how many great poets
simply go unnoticed?

How many laurels
once destined to be golden
merely rotted on the vine?

There shall always be
scribes with more recognition,
but every poet is a constellation.

Give me a poet 
whose footsteps ring into the night,
wandering these same streets in search of life.

I’ll never sound like the poets I love,
because I learned to love them 
well after I learned to rhyme.

I’d like to fill the shoes 
of those who came before,
but I was born at the end of time.