When he started to write a
new poem, he always felt observed.
There were the readers listening
to each single word with
ears wide open.
There were the living poets
with closed lips and
sharp gleaming eyes.
An army of critical dead poets
were comparing it
to what they wrote during
their lives.
And there was his own voice
reminding him to pay attention
to so many things:
the first was the empty place at
the desk that belonged only
to him.
Lasă un răspuns