I know a poet
Who is lost often in woods
Without a purpose
And comes back often
With little drops of tears in his eyes
When I ask him
About his journey
He passes into silence
He has nothing to share
Or to complaint
In words
But I know
He feels the joy and sorrow
Of life and its movement
He feels the sorrow and joy
Enchantment and Disenchanment
What about me?
A modern man!
Who knows too much
But feels too little
Who has all the resources
But his own soul;
To feel what it means to be alive
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