to whom it may concern
To whom it may concern
What I regarded as my best work
a selection of poems and written words
The title is "intense memories"
sent to a publisher that, after a week
said they would like to print my book
As the world stands for an unknown writer
I paid 400 euros for them to publish
Then came the long silences broken
with a request for more money, which
I ignored with a sigh of resignation
Our non-communication is growing
louder and deadly silent
I have reread my work, and it makes me
despair to tears that I'm not able to find
a proper publisher, but have to rely on
The third-rate publishers who are not
interested in literature per se, but a way
to make money from those who believe
They have a gift, a talent to share
Today is the saddest day in my life. I ask
What's the point of living when the wall
is unclimbable, when disappearing is
a welcoming option, because I'm losing
the belief that I matter.
That they were right all along, but they
felt sorry for me and wrote kind words
that in the end felled me like a rotten
tree in a green forest of the talented
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