As I walk this earth my words are not read or heard.
None of my books ever sell any copies.
No audience lines up to read me.
In fact, I never get so much of an audience at all.
My contemporaries outsell me and I am never on the bestseller lists.
My very parents left after my first book.
I struggle just to get the finances to put my books into print.
I wrote much in my early life.
Oh, how I wrote.
I wrote so many words, of so many topics and emotions.
Yet, I got nowhere.
No money to keep me afloat.
No advances to help my writing career.
No offers from anyone.
Only the disappointment of my own wasted effort.
So I gave up my writing for a more consistent paycheck, believing my words were behind me.
I was wrong.
You all found me on the side of an empty road, dead in my tracks, and you revived me like I needed CPR.
And I was back.
You gave my ancient words new thoughts before them.
My stories new life I could only dream of.
My books held a cultural significance they didn't have before.
I am more popular dead than I ever was alive.
Now you all speak of me as a classic, but if you only knew how I gave it up.
If you only knew, you'd read my words very differently.
Topic(s) of this poem: poet, poetic expression
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.