To recall Fernando Pessoa which wisely said:
The poet is a mere dissimulatorTranslated by myself...
His dissimulation seems so real
That he dissimulates to be dolor
The dolor which he can really feel.
And those who read his writes,
In the pain chore feels well,
Not both the pains he delights,
But the one which no one tells.
Thus in the gutters of the funny wheel,
Spin, spin, to put my mind apart
This convoy of hope made of steel
This convoy of rope called heart.