There is no justice in poetry

The Poet had, in a very sincere and heartfelt way, gotten tired of it. At every turn, there were people asking him: what did you mean by this line? Why use this word instead of another? What was the significance of the bird after a long stretch of nothing but spiders? What does it all mean?

Early on, the lesson had sunk in that honesty simply would not do. The line was there because the cursor accidentally moved to the wrong document whilst writing something completely different, and somehow worked anyway; that particular word had to be there, since each and every synonym in the thesaurus led astray; the bird was the only thematically appropriate word rhyming with undisturbed. These were the simple and straightforward reasons, and thus, they were relentlessly insufficient to sate the curiosity of all those avid readers. There had to be a deeper meaning, there just had to

The Poet was at a loss. No amount of evasion, equivocation or obfuscation did the trick. The readers just kept coming back, with more elaborate and in-depth questions. It just kept happening. Something bigger was necessary, something so grand it would throw off the chase for a long and peaceful time

And then, inspiration struck, giving us the first words of the Poet’s next magnum opus:

The Death of the Author,

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