Suppose some idiot
lost your one copy
of the best story
you ever wrote.
After you got over
your initial despair
would you throw over
storytelling
as a chump's game
or keep telling stories,
no matter how badly,
till you fell down dead
or buried the pain
of your initial loss
under a mountain
of stories, poems, or whatever else
you could imagine
to replace
your lost child?
Tomorrow
I want you to find
the long lost safe deposit
key
to the thousand
poems, plays, and stories
you have yet
to dream up.
After that,
the rest
is up to you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
buried the pain of your initial loss under a mountain of stories, poems, or whatever else you could imagine to replace your lost child? bringing out inner feelings.. very fine poem. tony