This I speak true
through rage and sorrow:
here was a day that
had no tomorrow.

The poet who lives
inside my head
ignores me mostly,
passes me ghostly,
cold and without
comfort in the
maelstrom of my mind.

And this is why
I could not find
the words with
which to tell
what swells my heart
and quickens me
madly to my fateó

Now it is too late.