I don’t want to be a poet
I don’t to be a poet
I want to be none
But a casting shadow
in the night time
looking for his body
looking for his own stuff
I don’t want your mercy
Your esteem
I don’t need your approval
I’m not looking for success
Nor for glory
Not even for reigning
Over gilt worlds
Nor for leading
Wastepaper troops
But I’m only on search
Of my real, original stuff!
Heartly despise me
Crush me under your feet
Forefinger me
As a pattern of human abjection!
Leaded by your mind’s envy
You’ll be slaves
Of your own measured freedom.
You’ll be winners
As well defeated
Struggling the battle.
You’ll be the machines
Of your own progress.
On construing
You’ll be destroying
And going towards
You’ll go backwards.
Inevitably.
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