How beautiful is the soul of the poet,
consisting of delicacy and melancholy,
which permeates the entire creation
of his poetry.

I consider him to be the culprit
of my state of the harmony
into which he brings me with his verses and rhymes,
with which he caresses my spleen-impoverished soul
and thus delays the onset of my oncoming agony.


Unaware of my power,
with which verse he conquers my senses.
They brighten up my day and night,
when he lulls my mind to sleep
and awakens evil intentions.


He enters my dreams
a poet who inscribes his soul in verse.
He, the originator and cause of my emotional states,
He, perfect in imperfections
a poet who takes me to other worlds.



.......

*If a poet wins your heart,
it never stops beating.
It will forever beat between the lines
of his poetry
and thus you become immortal.
© Adrienne Vágenknechtová