Judging comment:

Such a fascinating piece! I researched the title before reading and found "The Art of Poetry" is a poem written by Horace, which I have never read but learned he wrote that poetry demands unity, harmony, and using appropriate vocabulary and diction. This poem is dramatic without seeming fake or forced... several times I nodded my head, especially in the beginning with the mention of "sharing the same vein". Very potent image. I do think sharing emotions can be influential, groundbreaking, revolutionary perhaps and your transition in the second stanza, pointing out emotion's tendency to persuade us in untruth, that's powerful too. I do think we can let the pain speak for us. The emotion is real to us, but is it physical? It may seem like a dream as we have no physical ties to the aftermath of a dream. I love how you delve further into emotions playing into our mind, and use "postcards" to describe that. Indeed, emotions can author a hundred letters, there does not seem to be an end to how many emotions we can experience. Wonderful tie-in at the end with the perspective of the writer. I like how you said it can be both a selfless and selfish act as I find that true and think many people could relate. We make an honest confession, letting go of what holds us, yet is that selfish to give voice to that? To focus on us? Or is it selfless in that we are acknowledging that which held us back? The ending is eerie to me, and makes me ponder our purpose for writing. Do we write for answers, or to write through the emptiness, even for a brief moment. A captivating piece, well-written! (10)

I don't know this kind of writing since this is my first time to read such.
It felt good... a mixture of loving and joyous. A combination of mixed emotions that hangs off the balance not knowing if the reality is real or the dream is just a dream or is it both.
I wanna try and fit in your shoe to understand the meaning of it all.
The image I get from this poem is nearly the reality of what it is.

It is sometimes a lie.
I feel pain during sunset, I have never
met a man in death row. My father
is not yet dead, I am not anymore
in love with the woman in my poems.
But the emotion is as real as it gets,
no more real than the experience
of dream.

This stanza kept me thinking,
is this the truth or just a lie?
Why would the writer talk of the father not being dead or am I missing the point.
"I am not anymore in love with the woman in my poems"
Is it a fiction or fantasy.

Maybe the woman in the poems is just but a character or a lie...

Anyway... I have a lot to put together to figure out what it is and know it is.

I enjoyed reading it. it really fascinated me and left me the curiosity of wanting more from the writer.

Truly great.