In Poetry, nothing is a mistake
For a poetess, the paper is the strongest stake
Which allows her to sculpt her mind's hunger,
Ever-lasting, bittersweet and opaque.

In Poetry, no plot is a sin
You are free to voice your imprisoned thoughts
where, to your own little land of dreams and nostalgia,
You are the invincible king.

In Poetry, you discover all those astonishing things
which stranger eyes cannot see, they're blind
So you use them to build your halo and wings
with not a single competitor around you who clings.

In Poetry, you are a free human
where no one would ask you to work.
In your land, you work with imaginary crewmen
and their company will never cease you to smirk.