My dear,
you think about things
that can’t be put into words.

You wish to be a poet,
but your heart is too frozen
for your poems are far too intellectual.

Your words
are as blunt
as stone.

But your intentions
have the sharpness
of a razor’s edge.

With logic
you kill
every glimpse of emotion.

Stuck in your cold world of logical sequences
your words fail to form
precious sentences.

Your poems leave no place for emotions,
your philosophical bluntness
is destroying every kind of beautiful touch.

But do your readers know
that logic itself
offers a kind of high inner beauty?

Is logic really as blunt as imagined?
Or is it just a highly abstract beauty
only a few can grasp?