I have always loved to write
It is a passion and a burden
These flames that reside within me
Burn me raw with envy
The talent I see in others
Rips me apart with yearning
For more
I crave to be beautiful
In these sentences I string
But these words do not feel real
They are but letters on a page
Easily destroyed and forgotten
Yet the works of others are timeless
They exist in another dimension
One that does not age
For they are the gods of poetry
And I am only a mortal
That dreams to be in the heavens