Pen on paper,
words of the heart,
souls of the forgotten.
How much can I say,
with such meaningless things,
what do I really mean?
I speak in riddled phrases,
ones none care to hear,
but still I write them.
Can you love without fault,
can you convey the truth,
can you hear me?
What are the things I write,
meaningless and soundless,
what are they?
Writing to exist,
if I stop am I no more,
would you remember?
What are these things I feel,
why do they burden me,
who am I?
A poet,
a lover,
a child?
Am I everything,
am I nothing,
am I you?
No,
I,
exist.
I write the truth,
I speak of nothing,
I feel everything.
I am the philosopher,
I am the writer,
I am the child.
I know now,
what I am and do,
but what of You?
Author notes
Did anyone follow that?
Thank you for the help Orchid!
Written May 5th, 2006
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Comments
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i was able to follow it ^.^ ....yay!!!lmao... there were some spelling errors.."exsist" is really exist..and u forgot the "s" in philosipher....but other than that....
HOLY CRAP I JUST READ UR BEST POEM EVER!!!!!!!! ITS SO DEEP AND I JUST CRAPPED MY PANTS IN AWE...AND I GUESS I ALSO HAVE A BLADDER CONTROL PROBLEM....one im not aware of.......hmmmmm.....why did i type that........oh well..
i love this though.....its so deep and raw and inspiring!!!! ur word choice and imagery really was fantastic and everything just really spoke to the reader!!!! so fuckin amazing!!!!!!
millions of kudos!!!!!!!
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