There can be no forced inspiration.
What we call life is only talk of nature.
The light teaches you to convert life into a festive promenade.
Even if you are alone you wage war with yourself.
It is easy to see the glow but hard to recognize the awakening of silence.
We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.
I wanted to write the most beautiful poem but that is impossible; the world has written its own.