How Sublime For Poets

how sublime for poets
who spend sleepless nights
writing a poem and posting
them at dawn when even
all the dusts on the furnitures
are still all asleep, and
he never expects anything
to happen to his life, not
even the simplest thank
you from an unknown
reader, and he, who in turn
knows that a reader exists
somewhere, he too, never
has the chance of saying
you are welcome.

it's the spirit, i suppose,
that cannot stop, but goes
on and on, speaking to
itself, like the way its body
speaks to the house and
listens to the winds of the
windows and waits for
an opening of his only door.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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