I become,
I become the unwritten book
Carved alphabetically without images
Collective in anthrology of poems
Without the bibliography of self

I become a mountain
Not known by many yet climbed
I become a novel without the story for one to read
I become a plain sheet of paper in written letters

And then,
And then,
My story was told in fairy tale
Yet my name never kissed the walls of history

History me
In depths of deepens
History me
In family of letters dancing vowels and meanings

History me
Upon the sky of unforeseen clouds
Pointed not appointed
Painted and temptated
Rejected yet chosen.
Dead but now, awoken

History me
In short lenght of growth
As big engine with small body
By voices of silent sounds
Singing in paints and pants

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Written & Compiled

By @Josediccus

1/16/2018

Image credits

And also from @Immorajas

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Note

This is a poem that uses irony and satire to describe a poet who has really done so well, however feels belittled because he hardly has any influence on the outside world