philosophy

Inspiration is important, but writing poetry is also hard work. It's when everything is going well, but the last rhyme just won't fit, and you have to rewrite everything from scratch. Here's a poem about poets:
In the soul of a poet, the light of bright stars is reflected,
And above the poet rises an invisible bridge.
The fate of a poet is very simple:
To live, to die.
But there is a soul, a huge soul:
He must sing.
He is above the vanity of the world,
He is the light of God.
He is a man, a simple man,
But he is a poet!
He has chosen a path, and he moves forward,
Leading people.
And only death will interrupt his flight,
But he is stronger.
He is just a poet, and that says it all,
He must sing.
He is just a poet, and it is his destiny:
To live, to die.

And another one:
The path of a poet.
In a tight loop of his own dreams,
The poet hangs on the tree of knowledge.
Far from darkness, light, and suffering.
In a tight loop of his own dreams.
Drowned in written verses,
The poet lies at the bottom of the Bay of Words.
He is just a poet, and nothing else is given to him.
Drowned in written verses.
Shot down with fragments of rhymes,
The poet fell into the swamp of pleasures.
He forgot about the purpose of life and aspirations,
Shot down with fragments of rhymes.
He was quartered with a set of phrases,
And thrown as an example to those who will come after.
He was not a god, he was not omnipresent,
And he was quartered with a set of phrases.
The poet who died, but was not defeated,
Left behind fear, doubts, and vanity.
He carries with him his last dream,
The poet who died, but was not defeated.