Poetry is a magic spell.
A ritual of words
With emotions for the tools.
I cast the ideals of what I want to be
And watch them unfold before me.
You see, what we write for ourselves
We create in reality.
When we write about our sorrows,
Do they not seem to increase?
When we pine over loss,
Does that loss never leave?
What do you want
In your reality?
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 7:08 AM UTC
Poetry is a magic spell.
A ritual of words
With emotions for the tools.
I cast the ideals of what I want to be
And watch them unfold before me.
You see, what we write for ourselves
We create in reality.
When we write about our sorrows,
Do they not seem to increase?
When we pine over loss,
Does that loss never leave?
What do you want
In your reality?