Unititled, 1973

 Sometimes a poet writes something that he feels was written before by someone, but it was never noticed until now.  The following piece of verse is that such feeling--that it was written by someone, who is dead and has long since been forgotten.


I see
I feel
I display emotion,
But I hurt
I cry
I have pain,
Because I died like
 thousands before me.


Upon the writing of the above verse, I feel a sense of sadness, because whoever wrote this before me was a sick person.  Sick of life and sick of self.  It's a weird feeling to be speaking for someone else, who will never know he is now heard by the world.  I feel that the above poem was written by a hungry Englishman during the early 1800's before he starved to death.  May God rest his soul.  Peace.