Poetry is dead.
And it is reborn in every verse.
Poetry is dead.
Because it is a beautiful curse.

Every poet needs to give a part of his soul.
A sacrifice to existence.
This is my undeniable role.
Constant dying without assistance.

Poetry is dead.
Because cannot be killed
Poetry is dead.
Because it hurts too much to feel.

A burden that I did not choose, words that I cannot say.
Silent music, a quiet pray.
Poetry is the symphony that hides in plain sight.
The living warrior, the holy knight.