You cannot dream to write,
Unless there is a strong storm inside.
Which pushes you to rock bottom,
At the acme of the fright.

Try to push the nib,
With max force in your fingers,
Not a word will be written,
A word will be hard to linger.

A fire in the heart is needed,
And vital drops of lifeblood,
The pain has come through the throat,
In tears, the eyes should flood.

Like a cancerous intensity,
The words should mushroom in pain,
Yes! Poets live in the woods of dark,
They look for the light in vain.

With blood dripping slowly down,
From somber little eyes,
With the pain of pen in hand,
A poem of love, I write.