Every poet knows,
you're only as good
as you last piece
& sadly
it seems,
once it's read,
the interest can die off
rather quickly.

Unless of course,
you develop friendships
from other poets
who understand
what your trying to say
& realize
the true meaning of
what have you written
for me lately.

Those are the people
who've actually
read what you've posted.
Perhaps, we are merely ghosts
of our past lives,
interconnected
by the love of word,
full of heart,
enthusiastic,
being nice.

And the "likes" can surely suffice,
help to inspire
past life regressions
into something more readable
for the masses...

But I guess,
I'm a tad bit crazy,
having just another relapse
into deeper introspection...
a few personal confessions!

O, Does it ever end,
this spillage,
this spillage of our souls,
doe it ever end,
dear friends?