like a trembling Star in the cold

Someone
struggling to become
a first-class at this moment
writes non-stop
toward the summit
will come down
stealing things invisible

writing them well
own life,
own value,
own treasuries
as one philosopher said
'books are made by readers.'
writes to get the reader's investment
writes poems all night long
one day
became a first-class poet and
met on the street
we recognized each other
shook hands
greeted
i fell it
when i turned around
met the capitalist
nevertheless
i always struggle to write stories
in third class

poems of human poet
whom do not see
do not even talk to
are being written
without copying.