[unnamed]

A poet’s wit
Is to be consumed
Posthumously

Being

To fall in love
With the first morning
Poet's being

Shame

Shame to the poets
Who can describe a woman
In thousand verses

Precision

Poet’s tirade
Springs from not knowing
The name of things

Words

Poet’s sore words
In feelings’ cauldron
Metamorphose

Praise

Once the poet puts
His muse on a pedestal
She's out of his reach

Rules

One can't afford
Fall into his muse
Unless love's shared

Verses

Verses’ cold purpose
Is to raise poet’s ego
To the crashing point

Acceptance

A poet’s writing
Is nothing but a form of
Accepting himself.

Poetry

Idealistic
The poet embraces sorrow
Priceless happiness…

A Poet’s Soul

A poet’s soul’s a burning flame;
It doesn’t search for money, fame,
In its quest to pure understanding
Distorts the world for an amending.

A poet’s soul falls in love
With an idea from above,
It sees perfection in a flower
Weighting seconds in an hour.

A poet’s soul looks at you
An image it creates anew -
Words fluid in the making
For reality somehow mistaken.

A poet’s soul will melt in stars,
Will find its rest into the fars -
Too far from you, a muse of his,
Without you life’s an abyss!

A poet’s soul is not enough
To light a candle in this rough
World full of vague illusions,
Enslaved by distorted visions.

A poet’s soul will live in readers’ eyes -
A glimpse of thoughts’ paradise
Will shine somehow into the minds
Of souls akin with their finds.

Despre iubire

dedicata unui nume din mare

Răpus de duhurile nopții,
Mă las în somnul cel de taină,
Când timpul pare pus pe șotii
Și viața-n șoapte cere vamă.

M-amuz, nu am nimic a face,
Privesc cum totul se destramă;
Clădesc ruinile-mi stângace,
Când val de val iubirea sfarmă.

De-aș fi poet în nemurire,
Să cânt iubirea-n strune dulci,
Să las amarul în izbavă,
Să se înalțe printre stânci.

Îmi sunt trist fără de vrere,
Și e păcat, culeg doar vânt;
De-aș fi sădit o adiere -
Să îmi fiu vrednic pe pământ.