What will people say of this invisible poet, once I am gone? Foresee it sooner rather than later... Only that I lived to write and wrote merely to die... Empty. Tomorrow could be the end,Hath the world seen such a ridiculous poet as this? Reaching out with words, Hoping to leave no regrets. I appease no system of artistic conformity, counter every form of culture to cultivate compassion & my own decrepit chivalry.When the times cones, should anyone ask, will I come out of hiding? Would this rambling visionary rather riddle himself over a knife in shadow than glimpse the light of a prayed for dreamed of equality universal day...
In earnest anticipation of,
Death
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