...in any way, imperfect

Utterly proving my ignorance on the nature of a true poet.

The difficulty,
with negatively,
creatively-criticising,
a poet's work,
is that,
intrinsic,
to the poet's
nature, is a self-
expectation of nothing
less than
a pure
perfection
of
expression
in each,
every,
and
in all,
of their works.

This, is because,
if,
the poet
is made
aware,
that their
poem has been
perceived by
the reader as,
in any way,
imperfect,
then the poet,
them self!
is unsound,

and,
an unsound poet,
is,

(as no-one
was prepared
to tell
the ancient,
Roman emperor,
Nero,
(except,
by
suicide note!)*,

no poet
at all!

Given,
this inherent
sensibility, even any
approach
which might be
sensed as, reproach
appears distinctly invalidating,
and, deeply humiliating,
to the poet's
self-perceived status
of self-worth
(which is,
sometimes,
wholly measured
by the critical reception
of their art).

And, which is,
the obligatory,
default,
subconscious 
central feature
within
the
thematic
content
in the larger
body
of their work,
(since all of perception,
usually,
begins,
centers
and returns,
to one's
self,
to some degree,
or another,
(no matter
how
well
hidden).

So,
just
tell
them:

You liked it!

*As per,
nineteen-fifties,
Hollywood-produced,
historically
accurate
movie.