He will be
Everyone thought about future profession.
Here you should keep a discretion.
Someone wants to be a waiter.
And someone likes s painter.
But if a person wants to be a poet.
He'll be and he'll be writing good and bad.
He'll be writing to spite his enemies and those
Who didn't believe he'll be able to write a prose.
He will forget everything and everyone,
He'll think he has already done
All things and it will be existing only a pen,
A piece of paper and one thought: "I can."
And he'll try to describe everything that he has seen.
All his characters will be there where he has never been.
Maybe, he won't find his love way
And he will die alone one day.
Because he'll be writing, writing and will forget
That he even hasn't small pet,
To say nothing of man.
Because he'll want to plan, plan and plan.
He'll be writing all day and all night.
There'll be on his table only a flashlight.
He'll be looking at landscapes of Autumn
And sometimes digressing to drink a water.
He will forget how to eat.
He'll be rewriting to create
Something, people will be able to tell:
"This person really writes well."
And nobody might will know about him.
Every day his mood will be dim,
Because to write is all what he can do.
He can't stop because of you.
Because of your ignoring,
Because of your words: "Your poems are boring."
And he might won't achieve success,
God won't notice him and won't bless.
He'll never think: "Who am I?"
But even when he'll die,
Nobody will miss and missed.
And on his funeral will be only a priest.
