I can't read

I begin a journey with a poem.

Then I write it out and recite it.

But, I couldn't finish my recitation.

Because my throat felt funny.

As if there were grease flowing in my throat.

I discover I can no longer whisper.

Like a dead poet.

No, it's too beautiful.

I must finish it.

Every prose appeals to me like a mazurka

Every word narrates to me like a nocturne.

I want to break free of the enigma in my throat.

To no avail, I break down and cry.

From that day onwards, I no longer write poem.

Because my best was already written.

Too bad, I can't read.

Perhaps a love poem is not supposed to be written in this way.

Or perhaps I can no longer love.