My candlelight is an electric bulb, My ink and paper is a keyboard and a screen, My clothes are from a fashion shop, Nothing like you'd ever seen. But I too crouch over a desk, And torment my-self with words, To describe the hurt and pain, The void I'm leaning towards. Many years between our lives, Many many worlds away, But I know the things you suffered, I feel it every day. Maybe your words were different, Or you spoke a differents tongue. Maybe a different colour, Maybe old or maybe young. But I feel the way you felt, I hurt the way you hurt. I need the way you needed, I love the way you love.
Reason for writing:
I was writing a poem and started thinking about poets from past generations - how the words and images, the personalities could be so different, but in the end we all write about the same things and feel the same feelings.
Birth sign: Not entered
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