TO A DEAD POET

I know you were a different man

behind your poems, in the life

that was real and is now dust,

and that you did terrible things,

and all the common wrongs

akin to our kind; yet, that man

is soil under the winter snows,

and the persona he begetted

with words, that one lives and

breaths and lacks the wrongs

that the man of bone and

dust carved across other lives.

30.12.2022-14.08.2023

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