By Gerrit Bos
He sits at his desk, telling his secrets to the world:
though a blank sheet is his only confidante, a pen his only friend.
Saying to the paper that which he cannot to others:
speaking to those he cannot normally with his prose,
trying to reach them through his verse.
Though knowing that they will never hear, he still writes on –
to an audience that shall never respond.
Image by Alvaro Serrano