Last Poem

Alone in this world

Somewhere between dreams and reality

A new dimension opens and

He sees what noone else can see

While the thing inside his head turns faster

He hears some inner voices whisper:

Poor poet, you're too late

Your words are all said

Your poems are already made

Alone at a cemetary

Where inspiration's all around

Usual pictures that were already used

Was all that he found

While feelings won't change into distinct thoughts

He realizes the modern poets faults:

Poor poet...

He sees it like a fading vision

And he makes his last decision

He takes and empty paper and then

He writes his last poem:

Alone at the station with an empty paper in my hand

Travelling through human thoughts,

Dreaming away into the other land

While the thing inside my head is turning faster

I hear some inner voices whisper:

Poor poet...

And suddenly the poets gone

He missed his train but travells on