https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CW1FTLMB
The Word Mason
I 've never believed a poet could be
compared to a mason,
unable to see words similar
to stone-bricks!
I said to myself: how can a man see
a poem like a home?
Where are the walls to touch?
Where presences to smell?
And familiar noises to be heard?
I know of course that anyone
Is able to see by his mind’s eyes;
but what if I were a King Midas
from ancient Greece
making verses of all my touching words?
Then I’d be able to construct
Golden, glittering poems?
As a matter of fact a poet can build his poems
like a craftsman does his own handicrafts!
So many voices I can hearing around:
some, may be coming from Gehenna’s souls,
sound like star’s waves;
some others, come echoing,
from a confused dream of my past:
-" Watch out, boy! Lord Winningoes
will let the cat out of the bag, ‘you know?"
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