Pupil

He has been told that poets stay silent; that they find truths where there are no words, authors in between the lines of books we have all read. He was told to observe, taught by violence to be gentle. They taught him in smoke-hazed rooms wafting dank booze air. He has learned that air can suffocate. Better, son To save your breath, as bards do store up your ink for pitch black nights, flickered with lamplight, where sky will listen faithfully and the silence becomes peace.