On the blank, white paper,
The one that was like a swan's feather,
The one destined to hold a picture,
That history would remember,
I spilled ink on that very paper.
I tried making up reasons,
For these sudden fleet of emotions,
Trying to justify these sequence,
Trying to make resonable excuses,
Since I spilled the ink on the white paper.
The one that was destined to a fate,
A future that would sure appreciate,
The places it had orginate,
But I spoiled it's essence,
Since I spilled the ink on that fate.
"Why would I do that?",
I questioned myself for a long time,
The paper never asked me questions,
But the people who thought they possessed it did,
Maybe because I spilled ink on their delusions.
YOU ARE READING
There Was A Feeling
PoetryWhile so many things could've changed, I wanted to decide I'll always be the same. But why is it so difficult? ------- This book is the poetry book with poetries highlighting topics anxiety, depression, self-doubt, heartbreak and many more such fee...
